Brazil
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: Sixth in a series. An assignment gone wrong leaves Purdey in deadly danger. With McKay's hands tied, Gambit and Steed must seek help elsewhere. But there's more to Purdey's predicament than meets the eye...
1. Who's Calling?

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Purdey could hear the phone long before she woke. She incorporated it into her dreams, as is common of external stimuli that are not strong enough to bring about full consciousness, but too invasive to ignore. It didn't take long for her to make the transition—a ringing telephone was rather out of place in a dream about dancing "Swan Lake" before a large audience. But the fantasy was real enough to leave Purdey disoriented upon waking, and it took a moment of staring at the ceiling above her bed to realise that she no longer danced, had cut off her hair, and the last man to enter her bedroom, if not her bed, was not Larry Doomer, but Mike Gambit, even if it hadn't been upon invitation. She honestly didn't know why she bothered having a door anymore. All of London seemed to ignore it and dropped in as it pleased. She often wondered if her request for an unlisted phone number had somehow been confused and ended up as a full page advertisement listing her address with the greeting 'All welcome.'

None of these musings was getting the phone answered.

Purdey groaned and reached for the receiver on her bedside table. If it was Gambit, she'd see to it that he received four a.m. wake-up calls for the next month.

"Hello," she greeted groggily.

"Miss Bryde? Purdey Bryde?" a woman's voice inquired briskly.

Purdey winced involuntarily. Nobody used her surname anymore. Steed had had it struck from all but her most intimate personal files when her own attempts at persuading the Ministry brass had proved unsuccessful. It was just as well the senior agent had succeeded—the name reopened old wounds associated with her father's untimely death, and the publicity that had surrounded his demise compromised her cover. Whoever was on the other end of the line either didn't know this or didn't care.

"Who's calling?" she wanted to know, letting a certain degree of annoyance seep into her voice.

The question was ignored. "Miss Bryde, you are to report to McKay's office immediately. An appointment has been made for you. Nine o'clock. Do not be late."

Purdey was fully awake now—and outraged. "Just a minute," she exclaimed, bolting up in bed. "Steed's meant to contact me on business, not McKay. I don't even have confirmation that you're with my department."

"These orders come directly from McKay," the woman informed her. "He overrides John Steed's authority, certainly?"

She had her there. "Yes," Purdey agreed reluctantly. "But it's very unusual. I'd like to know what this is about."

"Then I suggest you keep your appointment, Miss Bryde. Good day." The woman rang off, and Purdey was left staring at the receiver in puzzlement. She was used to sudden calls to arms at all hours, but not from someone besides Steed or Gambit, and on the rare occasion someone else made contact, he certainly wouldn't address her as anything other than 'Purdey.' Her mind ran through the possibilities as she placed the receiver back in its cradle, gazed absently out into the living room. A new girl, perhaps? A secretary who was unaware of her alias? Unlikely. Such a person wouldn't have access to the right files. And why circumvent the normal chain of command? Purdey hated to admit it, but by virtue of experience, she was at the bottom of the heap in terms of authority when it came to their little threesome. Gambit's days in the field had given him seniority, even though for the most part he gave her equal status as a partner, only pulling out the seniority card when it suited him, or if he was feeling smug that day. Purdey usually shot him down rather quickly.

All of this meant that McKay would only be the one to arrange an appointment if Steed or Gambit _couldn't_ make contact. The prospect made her gut twist, but it was possible. If Steed and Gambit had both been injured or—heaven forbid—killed, then McKay's use of a secretary to contact her would be an easy way of deferring the inevitable emotional upheaval that would surely occur when he gave her the news. Steed and Gambit weren't working on anything as far as Purdey knew, but in their business, Purdey was all too aware of the fact that you didn't need an assignment to end up dead. Many men had met their ends stumbling across something quite accidentally. Purdey didn't know what she'd do if she lost two more men she cared about to this line of work. _Think. There must be other explanations._

_A trap._ That made sense. It could explain the unusual mode of address, and Purdey knew it was entirely possible for her files to be compromised. If the caller was laying a trap, she obviously wouldn't be able to use Steed, Gambit, or McKay to make the call. Even if she'd somehow managed to capture her colleagues, Gambit and Steed certainly wouldn't agree to help guide Purdey to the lion's den. Hostage wasn't a pleasant idea, but it was better than death. And easier to confirm. Purdey reached for her receiver with the intention of calling Gambit's flat. If the call did turn out to legitimate, it was entirely possible that Mike may have received one too. At the very least they could compare notes. If he was there. Purdey swallowed hard and started to dial the number, but a sudden thought stayed her hand. If it was a trap, her phone could easily be bugged. And if Gambit did answer, there was no guarantee that he would be able to speak freely. Someone could be there with him, a gun to the dark curls. The same could be true of Steed. Purdey put the receiver down hurriedly. She was working herself up with half-formed conspiracy theories, and it was getting her nowhere fast. She glanced at the clock. There was time, still, for her to get ready and make the trip to Gambit's flat before the meeting. If Mike was in trouble, then she could do something. If he wasn't, then she could enlist his help in analyzing the strange call.

It was the start of a plan, at least. Purdey climbed out of bed and made for the bathroom.


	2. Steamy Meeting

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

As Purdey approached Gambit's flat, her mind rehearsed what to say. She didn't want to come across as frightened as she felt, but on the other hand, the way she'd worked herself up on the drive over, she wasn't certain if that were possible. She sighed. _Just have to see how it goes_, she mused as her finger depressed the buzzer next to his door. She listened. Nothing. No sound of Gambit moving to the door, no call to come in, nothing. She pushed again, harder and longer than before. Again, no answer. The Jag and Rover were both outside on the curb when she arrived, so she knew he was home. _He could still be abed, _she reasoned. Purdey had woken him on more than one occasion. _Or he could be unconscious, or at gunpoint_, the worried part of her brain interjected, feeding her growing fears. Nothing for it, she would have to let herself in, and hope Mike was all right. She fished out her spare key and went in.

Almost immediately the sound of falling water reached her ears. Shower. Mike was in the bathroom, his couch still a bed with an untidy ball of sheets sitting on it. She made her way across the living area to the bathroom, wedged between the main quarters and the (spare) bedroom. Sure enough, the bathroom door was closed, and a faint wisp of steam was curling out of the crack at the top. She let herself in, a cloud of steam washing over her as she closed the door behind her and stood for a moment, mentally taking in the fact that a thin sheet of plastic was all that stood between her and Gambit _au naturel_. She grinned and suppressed the urge to peek. Making her way toward the centre of the room, in front of the medicine cabinet, she stood and waited. Gambit, so far unaware of her presence and humming some old sailor's ditty while he splashed about, suddenly realized that he was out of soap, and pushed back the curtain a little with the intention of rectifying the problem. He wasn't prepared for the sight of Purdey's smiling face as she leaned against the counter. It was terribly unfair. He hadn't even had his coffee yet.

"Purdey!" he yelped, yanking the shower curtain to cover him from the waist down while silently saying a prayer of thanks to the salesgirl at Marks & Spencer who was insistent that see-through curtains were not the thing this season. Come to think of it, he hadn't called her in awhile. "What the devil are you doing in here?"

"Exfoliating. Steam does wonders for the skin," Purdey quipped.

"You couldn't do that at home?" Gambit asked, a little tiredly.

"I thought about it, but the view isn't nearly as good," Purdey explained, letting her eyes rove up Gambit's chest, past the St. Christopher around his neck, io the very soaked dark curls flattened against his head.

Gambit raised an interested eyebrow. "Would you like to join me?"

"I've already had my shower this morning," she demurred.

"Ah, well, in that case, could you pass the soap?"

She obliged. Gambit went back behind the curtain.

"What did you want, exactly? Besides the view?"

"I had a call. Someone asking for Bryde."

Gambit's head came around the curtain again, now covered in a lather of shampoo. "Bryde? No one's used that name since--"

"'75. I know." She started to rummage through the medicine cabinet

"What did he want?"

"She. Set up a meeting with McKay. Rather pushy. Barely acknowledged Steed's authority." She removed a bottle of aftershave and sniffed it. It was lightly scented, and reminded her immediately of Gambit. "I'm a bit worried."

"Sounds like a trap," Gambit concurred, listening to Purdey's rummagings. "Don't touch the water. I'm not in the mood for a scalding. Or a freezing."

"That's what I thought. I wanted to see if you'd gotten a similar call. Or if someone had gotten in while you were sleeping. Or if Steed—"

"Steed's fine. I talked to him right before I came in here. No mention of a meeting." He turned the water off. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to come along."

"I thought you'd never ask."

He poked his head around the curtain again. "Towel?"

She handed him a black one, and he was wrapped up and out in a few seconds.

"You're up awfully early," Purdey observed, glancing at her watch as Gambit made certain his towel was in no danger of dropping unexpectedly, and treating Purdey to another art show.

"Didn't sleep well," he explained. "I'll be in the bedroom. If you could not wander in I'd appreciate it."

"Anything to hide?" Purdey's lips were twitching toward a smile.

"Never. But you have to take the whole package if you want the perks."

She finally let go and smiled in earnest. "I'll keep that in mind," she told him. They stood for a moment, smiles mirroring one another, before she spoke again. "Thanks, Mike."

"Always a pleasure."


	3. Shades of Grey

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

They went in Purdey's car, the girl driving while Gambit kept a watchful eye in the rearview mirror, scanning the morning traffic for any cars that were adhering to the same route. But no one followed them more than a block or two, and none of the pedestrians showed any sign of talking into their coats or other suspicious behaviour. He said as much to Purdey, and she couldn't help but agree with him. For all her worries, the meeting seemed legitimate. Purdey wasn't certain if that made her feel better or worse. If there was no conspiracy, that meant that someone in the department had dragged her name, and her past with it, back into her life, and something told her nothing good would come from it. She almost wished someone would jump the pair of them once her TR7 was safely ensconced downstairs in the Ministry car park. At least she knew where she stood with the enemy. With your own people, it was always trickier.

Gambit's thoughts must have been whirring along in the same direction, if his heavy silence and gently working jaw were any indication. He checked in at the front desk distractedly, and it was only when they were in the lift gliding up to McKay's floor that he spoke again.

"You don't think it's some sort of official reprimand?" he ventured, voice laced with worry. "That's the only thing I can think of," he explained to Purdey's raised eyebrow. "Last name could be an official mode of address, way of letting you know you're in for a dressing-down. It'd explain circumventing Steed, too."

"There's only one problem," Purdey pointed out. "I haven't done anything wrong." She paused, and looked thoughtful, brow furrowed in thought. "Have I?" she added uncertainly.

Gambit smiled uneasily. "Not as far as I can tell, and I should know. I've been trying to corrupt you for ages."

Purdey smirked back. "Maybe you haven't been using the right incentive."

"Feel free to fill me in." Between their grins, there was a momentary easing of the tension, and they somehow managed to make their way down the corridor putting more thought into getting a leg up on their banter than on Purdey's imminent meeting. As a result, they found themselves outside McKay's office in relatively high spirits, a situation that didn't last when the door eased open before they had a chance to knock, and they were face-to-face with the man himself. That was the first sign of trouble. McKay wasn't the smiliest of sorts, but today there was an underlying grimness—a frustration—that twisted his face into a sour expression. Tommy McKay wasn't happy. That much was clear. Purdey and Gambit's arrival didn't seem to do much to improve matters.

"I thought Purdey was the only one we had contacted," he grumbled, although he didn't seem to address either agent, but the world at large.

"I was," Purdey confirmed. "But I thought there might have been a mistake. I am supposed to take all my assignments from Steed, and Gambit—"

"No mistake," came a voice from within the office, and McKay's features tightened. Purdey and Gambit watched in surprise as a second man appeared behind McKay. He slim, about 5'11", and dressed in an impeccably-cut suit. The hair was brown, but silver-streaked throughout, and the eyes glimmered with the same metal. He held a pair of reading glasses in one hand, casually balanced between thumb and forefinger. It was clear he didn't need them for distances—the thorough up and down inspection he was giving to both Purdey and Gambit made it abundantly clear that he could see them just fine. It was a calculating look, judging, appraising. Gambit felt like a piece of meat, and could only guess at how Purdey was taking it, barely managed to restrain himself from stepping between her and this interloper. From the looks of things, Purdey didn't like the newcomer anymore than Mike did—she was fixing him with that calm, cool stare that had been bestowed on many a baddie right before she acquainted him with the toe of her shoe. The man, to his credit, was unfazed. "I was the one who had Miss Bryde called in."

"Sorry, I didn't catch your name," Gambit snapped, the name setting him on edge, and the man had the nerve to smile.

"Not surprising, Mr. Gambit, seeing as I didn't give it. But I'm forgetting myself." He reached out a hand. "Grey. Julian Grey. MI12." Gambit didn't want to take it, but McKay was eyeing them both in a way that suggested there wasn't much choice in the matter. Mike obliged. The handshake was aggressive, a touch too hard for a friendly greeting. Gambit squeezed just enough to get his own back, but Purdey evidently did more judging by Grey's slight wince. Gambit fought back a smile. Purdey could get away with things any other agent would be reamed out for, and at times like these she was more of a marvel in his eyes than ever.

"I'm afraid we've never had the pleasure," Gambit said meaningfully, in a way that suggested that they hadn't had it now, either.

Grey was unfazed. "Naturally, you don't know me. Separate departments and all that. But I know you—both of you. I've read your files, but most people have an idea of who the great John Steed has allied himself with. Of course, it's a bit unusual of him to take on two partners, but then everyone slows down eventually." He smiled at what he obviously thought was an amusing quip. Purdey and Gambit's looks told him otherwise. "But then I'm only interested in one third of your little unit. Miss Bryde—"

"Purdey." The name left both Mike and the girl's lips simultaneously, and Grey smiled again. "Just Purdey," she added.

"Terribly sorry," Grey apologized without much sincerity. "Old files, you know. Although I'm sure you could have clarified without Mr. Gambit's invaluable assistance. Just as you will during our little meeting."

Purdey's eyes narrowed. "I thought McKay—"

"McKay will be present, of course," Grey assured. "But Mr. Gambit will have to wait outside. That is all right, isn't it? She is capable of making decisions without your input?"

Gambit's jaw was really working now. "That rather defeats the purpose of having a partner, doesn't it?" Purdey commented brightly.

"I suppose," Grey sniffed. "But in your case, Miss Bry—Purdey, I've a little solo excursion that needs doing, and McKay has assured me that you'll be happy to help. If you'll just step inside, I'll explain everything."

Purdey looked suspicious, but there wasn't much chance of being attacked in her own building, with McKay on guard. She glanced at Mike, who it was obvious was silently pleading for her to refuse. But Grey's words had stung a little, and she wanted to show him just who he had chosen to tangle with. She gave Gambit a cocky half-smile, and for all his worry he managed to return it before she faced the MI12 man.

"Get on with it, then," she told Grey. "I haven't got all day."

Grey merely nodded, and gestured for Purdey to follow McKay into the office. Then he turned to Gambit. "I wouldn't worry," he told Mike. "I'm sure that Purdey can make do without a chaperone."

Gambit replied by stalking over to the opposite wall and leaning back against it, arms crossed, with a darkly brooding expression that made it clear that anyone who tried to move him would end up a crumpled heap on the floor. Grey just smiled—an oily, self-satisfied, all-knowing smile—and closed the door behind him with a gentle click.

To Gambit, it was a gun shot.

* * *

Note: There really was a department known as MI12, although it no longer exists, and doesn't bear any resemblance to Grey's organization. Instead, I'm using a throwaway reference by Mother in _Bizarre_, who mentions the possibility of fobbing off a difficult case to MI12. Considering Brian Clemens referred to Steed and co.'s organization as "MI5 1/2," I'd say accuracy wasn't foremost on the writers' minds, so things are being set up in the context of the canon. Thanks for all the reviews thus far, and I hope you enjoyed the new chapter.


	4. The Assignment

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

John Steed was puzzled. He'd arranged a rendezvous with Gambit that morning, but the younger agent had failed to show. After an uneventful quarter hour feigning interest in the paperwork that was heaped on his much-loathed desk in the equally-loathed office, Steed decided that Gambit's missed appointment was a good pretext for investigation, and he set out into the corridor to begin his search.

Surprisingly, he found Gambit fairly quickly, glaring at McKay's office door as though it had done him a personal insult, body tense like a coiled spring. Steed raised an eyebrow and made his way over to his colleague with the intention of gleaning some sort of explanation.

Mike was so focused on his task that he didn't notice the senior agent until he was right in front of him. He blinked in surprise, and straightened a little from where he had slid down the wall. "Steed," he greeted distractedly. "Sorry to miss our meeting. Something came up."

"Yes, I'd come to that conclusion all on my own," Steed replied, turning to fix his gaze on McKay's door along with Gambit. "Did McKay contact you?"

Gambit shook his head. "No. That's the problem. I don't know what's going on in there."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "I don't know if they told you this in training, but it's infinitely easier to listen in on a conversation if you're on the side of the wall with the door."

Gambit scowled, but not at Steed. "I'm not listening. I'm waiting."

Steed frowned. "I don't follow."

Gambit smiled ruefully. "I'm being mysterious, aren't I? It's Purdey—she's in there, and I'm not moving until she comes back out."

Steed felt alarm crash into his consciousness. "Is she in trouble?"

Gambit shook his head. "I don't know. She's not being disciplined, but there's some MI12 man. Says his name's Julian Grey. Wants to use her on an assignment. He's in there telling her about it now. McKay's there, too, but I get the feeling he doesn't have much say in what's going on."

Steed's brow crinkled in puzzlement. "MI12? I don't think we've crossed paths with them since the sixties."

"Well, something's changed, because he went to a lot of trouble to get Purdey special. Secretary rang her this morning asking for Bryde."

Steed's eyebrow climbed to heretofore unsurpassed heights. Gambit only nodded. "That's what I thought, and Purdey, too, apparently. She came by my flat this morning wondering if there'd been a trap laid out, and if we were still where we ought to be. They've circumvented you entirely."

"Yes," Steed agreed, eyeing the door with the same sort of suspicion he'd seen on Gambit's face a few moments earlier. "How long have they been in conference?"

"About ten minutes," Gambit informed with a glance at his watch.

"I see," Steed murmured. "Do you mind if I stay on?"

Gambit sighed, and ran a hand over a stiff neck. "I'd like it better if you did. You might get farther than me. Grey's not interested in giving me any answers. He wants me out of the picture as far as Purdey's concerned. He's obviously read my file and thinks we're too close."

Steed smirked, ever so slightly. "He must have skimmed it if he honestly believes leaving you outside is going to do much where Purdey's concerned."

Gambit managed a grin back. "Hope you're right. I can't live in this corridor forever."

"We can take shifts," Steed pointed out cheerily.

Gambit chuckled in spite of himself.

* * *

Meanwhile, Purdey found herself ushered into a chair positioned before McKay's desk. The man himself took his seat across from her, and lapsed into a sullen silence. Obviously Grey was calling the shots, and the Ministry boss was none too happy with the situation. Grey himself abstained from a seat, preferring instead to perch himself on the edge of McKay's desk so he was facing Purdey, and proceeded to rest his unnerving silvery gaze upon her. Purdey stared back defiantly with the intention of making him drag answers out of _her_, but the suspense was too much to take. She broke the silence.

"Well, now that I'm here," she began briskly, "perhaps you'd like to explain why you woke me up this morning?" She tilted her chin upward so she could literally look down her nose at him "It was you, wasn't it?"

Grey smiled. "My secretary," he confirmed. "But as I told you, Miss Bryde. I have a job for you."

"Purdey," she reminded automatically. "_Just_ Purdey. What sort of job?"

"It's really terribly simple, Purdey," Grey told her, not addressing the issue of her moniker. "Childishly, in fact."

"Anyone could do it, then?" Purdey said brightly. "You, for example?"

Grey's smile lost a little of its brilliance, but he didn't rise to the jab. "I suppose," he allowed, "but a field agent would be preferable. I run the operations as a rule. I'm running one at the moment, overseas."

"What sort of operation?" Purdey wanted to know.

"That's classified, I'm afraid," Grey said airily. "But it doesn't matter where you're concerned. You see, there are certain documents of a sensitive nature. It's imperative that my team receives them without their being intercepted. I need an agent to fly over and deliver them personally."

Purdey scrunched up her face in disgust. "You want me to play courier?" she asked in disbelief. "Surely there must be someone in your own department who can do that?"

"Oh, yes. Several," Grey agreed. "But the subject of my team's investigation, he—how shall I put this? He's become familiar with our branch of operations. I can't be sure that any of our agents can enter the country undetected, and if he knows who to look for, the chance of the documents reaching their destination without incident is very slim indeed. However, the Ministry is a mostly domestic department, so much so that he does not concern himself with its operatives."

Purdey crossed her arms. "All right, I understand why you're going outside your own department. But that doesn't explain why you chose me."

Grey chuckled to himself. "I should think that was obvious. I don't want to entrust these documents to just anyone. I want one of the best, an agent who has the skills to ensure that the delivery will be made should something go wrong. And you, Purdey, are one of the Ministry's finest."

"How flattering," Purdey said with mock-sweetness. "But that still doesn't explain why you chose me. Gambit's just as qualified, and he's been with the department longer."

"Ah, but Gambit isn't a woman," Grey countered.

"Oh, you noticed it too?"

"I mean," Grey cut in, composure slipping the tiniest fraction, "that our person of interest will be much less likely to suspect a woman of being an agent. And as your contact, one Samantha Grieve, is also female, I thought complications could be minimized if a woman was sent in to deliver the documents. And for better or worse, Purdey, you must admit your sex is under-represented in this profession, but among those that have chosen to pursue it, you are undeniably the best there is."

Purdey tapped the arm of her chair thoughtfully. "I'm used to working in a team," she said after a moment. "You know that. But I heard what you said in the hall. Why are you against Gambit and Steed? If they came along, they'd be extra insurance."

Grey actually frowned this time. "Partners are an unnecessary distraction," he sniffed. "Particularly when one gets as with them chummy as you have. They'd be more likely to draw attention and jeopardize the assignment than do much to aid the cause. No, I think it's best if you go your own."

Purdey frowned in return. "I haven't accepted," she reminded.

"No," Grey agreed. "But Mr. McKay here is under orders to do everything in his power to aid me in my operation, and that includes ordering you to go on this assignment. It's imperative that this operation isn't jeopardized. But I'd prefer it if you decided to go of your own free will. Makes you a real member of my team, as it were."

"I'm already on a team," Purdey reminded acidly. "But I don't have time to argue. Where do you want me to go, and how long will it take?"

"You leave tomorrow," Grey revealed. "Fly out, spend the night, make your way out to my team's camp the next day. You'll have to spend the night there—the jungle isn't conducive to travel in the later hours. You'll return back to England the following day."

Purdey's eyes narrowed. "Jungle?" she repeated. "Where am I going?"

Grey's eyes locked with hers. "Brazil," he said simply, and Purdey felt the world fall away. Images—a cold day, a casket, a grave, wind in her hair and a crack in her heart—all called back with one word. _Brazil_. She didn't even want to think about the place, much less go there. The place her father had taken his last breath.

"Purdey." Grey's voice echoed through her thoughts. "Are you listening? Is there a problem?"

Purdey swallowed hard and tried to regain her composure. "No," she lied. "Nothing."

Grey looked unconvinced. "Purdey, if there's something that you think I should know, I'd appreciate it if you brought it to my attention. I don't have time, nor the patience, for extra complications."

"It's nothing," Purdey snapped.

Grey bolted to his feet. "Miss Bryde!"

"That's enough!" McKay's voice caught them both by surprise, but the older man was leaning across his desk, anger flashing in his eyes. "I was ordered to give you access to my agents, not to let you harass them," he told Grey in a tone that didn't invite retorts. "I'm sure if Purdey had something to say, she'd say it. But if you can't keep a lid on your temper, Mr. Grey, I suggest you go elsewhere to find people to do your dirty work."

The two men locked eyes, and Purdey could feel the tension crackling in the air. She could remember the days when Steed and Gambit had participated in this sort of wordless battle of wills, when Steed was the frustrated legend, Gambit had a loner's streak a mile wide, and she was as green as grass with hair that wouldn't do as it was told. Funny how it was only a few months past a year, now, and she couldn't fathom how any of those people could have ever existed. They certainly hadn't called in a very long time.

Grey was mumbling some sort of apology at her, but Purdey knew it was her duty to fill him in. "My father," she broke in, surprising everyone, including herself, with the softness of her voice. "He was shot as a spy in Brazil, going on eleven years now."

Grey sucked his teeth. "I see," he murmured. "I neglected to read the personal section of your file, or I wouldn't have chosen you. I _suppose_ an emotional conflict such as that excuses you from duty."

Purdey shook her head. No, she wasn't going to let the past get in the way of her duty. She had to prove to Grey—to herself—that she could do this job the way her father would have, that she could fight this demon. "I'll go," she insisted.

"It is too late to find someone else," Grey agreed. "But if it's a problem—"

"It won't be," Purdey assured, reaching out for the briefing file she recognized on Grey's end of the desk. "I promise you."

Grey looked pleased with her Spartan courage. "Good," he said as he handed her her file. "You'll find all the details in there, along with your plane ticket. I look forward to seeing you in three days."

"At least one of us will, then," Purdey muttered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some things to take care of before my little sojourn. I'd like to say it was a pleasure, Mr. Grey, but mother told me never to lie." With that she rose, turned on her heel, and strode out of the office without a backward glance.

* * *

Purdey was amused to discover that Gambit had been joined by Steed in her absence, standing guard like a pair of mismatched toy soldiers. She smiled in spite of herself.

"You're doing an admirable job of propping up the wall," she told them as they moved to join her in the middle of the corridor. "Steed, you're picking up Gambit's bad habits, lurking about. It'll get you in trouble."

Steed smiled to himself. "I make a point of learning from the experts," he told her, and she felt her own grin broaden. But Gambit was immune to their teasing, eyebrows drawn worriedly.

"What happened with Grey?" he wanted to know, and Purdey remembered the file in her hands.

"I've got an assignment," she revealed. "And I'm leaving tomorrow, so if you want the whole story, you'll have to come along and watch me pack."

Gambit wasn't laughing. "Then we'd better get moving. I want to know exactly what he's put you up to. This whole thing feels wrong." He gently grasped one of her elbows and started to steer her down the hall, away from Grey, who had come to linger in the doorway. If anyone had an attitude of 'pure and positive lurk,' it was him.

"It's bothersome," Purdey allowed as Gambit hustled her along, "but I don't see any signs of conspiracy."

"All the same." Steed was serious now, too. "I think you ought to tell us everything while it's still fresh." He had her other elbow, and between the pair of them Purdey found herself whisked off down the corridor before she could protest. She didn't notice Gambit's backward glance. Mike saw Grey, standing in the doorway to McKay's office, smile playing over his lips. The alarm bells in his head rose to a deafening klaxon as he picked up the pace. Anything to get Purdey away from those eyes.

Note: The chapters have been terribly short lately, so this one's a bit longer. And rest assured the action will pick up soon. I just need to lay the foundation...


	5. Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

"And that's when I left," Purdey finished, leaning back into the sofa and focusing on her fingernail as it gently tapped against her glass of gin while she waited for a comment from one of her companions. When none came, she glanced up again, tried to gauge some sort of reaction. Steed was ensconced in the armchair across from her, elbows on knees, his own glass forgotten as he looked down and to the left at something that only he could see. Gambit, on the other hand, had started out in a chair, but he'd given up being still for pacing the flat like a caged animal while Purdey told her tale. She found him finally at rest, leaning back against her barre and wearing the same distracted expression as Steed. Purdey knew better than to try and drag anything out of either of them when they were like this—it was like pulling teeth. She finished her gin and set the empty glass on the coffee table, amusing herself by mentally superimposing that wallpaper she planned on putting up just as soon as she got a free moment when people weren't chucking her into coffins or smashing the furniture to bits.

"Feels wrong."

Purdey started out of her decorating daze, wondering at which male voice it was she'd heard. "What does?" she asked the room at large.

"Everything." Gambit was her first source of feedback. His eyes were fixed on her, actually seeing the way Steed's hadn't. "The whole package. Something's not adding up."

"'Something' isn't good enough." Steed was putting his oar in now, finishing his own drink. "Particularly when there are several somethings that could be clouding the waters. The problem comes in sifting out the emotional from the illogical."

Gambit scowled. "You did say to follow our instincts," he reminded. "And I don't know about you, but mine have been on high alert ever since Purdey told me about the call."

"Point taken," Steed allowed. "But my sticking point is what it is you're actually experiencing—emotions or instincts? I don't think any one of us can deny that we don't _like_ the situation for any number of reasons." He ticked them off on his fingers, one by one. "Grey is less than likeable. McKay's been tied down. MI12's infringing on our operations. Using Purdey's last name. Sending her off to the very place her father died, and on short notice." He glanced from one of his young colleagues to the other. "Any of those—although I suspect all—could be swaying our judgment. We don't personally like this assignment, so we're suspicious of it, trying to come up with reasons to abort." His gaze stopped on Gambit. "You said yourself you've been on high alert since Purdey called. Once you start looking for a trap, you start seeing shadows everywhere."

Purdey bit her lip and looked to Gambit as well. "He has a point," she told him. "And Grey gave me a reason for everything he's doing."

"That's part of the problem," Gambit asserted, pushing away from the barre and moving across the room in three quick strides to settle onto the couch beside her. "Grey's got a reason for _everything_. It all seems a little _too_ neat, like he was expecting to be questioned."

Purdey shook her head. "That doesn't follow. If he was going to work outside his own department, he would need reasons to convince the people at the top. You should know that better than anyone, the way the Germans brought you in in '75. And Steed's right—Grey's got your back up. You can't deny that."

Gambit sighed and rubbed his temples in frustration. "You think I'm paranoid."

"Overprotective came to mind," Purdey replied knowingly. Gambit was known for looking out for her own well-being more than his own.

Gambit peeked between fingers to smile at her. "Nothing wrong with that. Not if you've got something worth protecting." Purdey grinned back. "But it can go both ways," he went on. "You're not anymore objective than me. Grey's issued a challenge, getting you to go Brazil considering your past. After the way he went on about partners, I think you're trying to prove you can carry a solo act _and_ shake off the baggage at the same time."

Purdey bristled, leaning forward to collect the glasses. "I am capable of doing things on my own," she reminded. "I did solos like any other agent."

"But you're not trying to prove anything? Not even to yourself?" Gambit pressed, and Purdey used the glasses as an excuse to flee from probing eyes. She was at the sink before she even considered replying.

"Even if I am," she heard her voice say, "that's not stopping me from doing the job."

Gambit was beside her suddenly. "I don't want to identify your body because you were too busy thinking about your dad to look out for the boys chasing your briefcase."

"You won't," Purdey snapped, slamming the glasses into the draining rack with feeling. "I wish everyone would quit worrying about my emotional state and trust me."

"We do trust you," Steed asserted gently. "But would you prefer it if we didn't worry at all?"

Purdey was silent. Steed carried on.

"It doesn't matter. I think it's fairly obvious that none of us is objective. I'll make some calls, speak with McKay, but at the moment interdepartmental jealousy isn't a good enough reason to ask for a pass."

"Last time we heard that, it took a 17-year sleeper to keep Purdey from getting shot," Gambit reminded grimly.

"All the same," Steed persisted, shrugging off the memory of the shot, the fear of being too late. If it hadn't been for Gunner… "Purdey, if you think you think you can handle it, you're obligated to carry out Grey's orders."

"I can," Purdey assured.

"Right." Steed retrieved his bowler and brolly from the kitchen table, turned to his partners. "I'll let you know if I find anything. Gambit, do you need a lift?"

Mike was looking thoughtful again. "No," he declined. "No, I'll stay on for a bit. Help Purdey pack."

Purdey made a face, and Gambit grinned back at her. Steed smiled a smile of his own.

"I'll be on my way, then."

Purdey walked the senior agent to the door. "Thank you, Steed."

"My pleasure." And he was springing up the 21 steps like a man half his age. She watched him disappear before closing the door and turning to Gambit, still ensconced by the sink.

"Help me pack," she scoffed. "You're slipping, Mike. You'll never outbluff anyone with lines like that."

"I save the best ones for special occasions," he quipped. "No use wasting them on trying to outdo Steed. Besides, I'll be happy to help. I'd love to see what you bring along for sunbathing."

"I doubt I'll have much time for tanning. I'll be trudging through jungle, not lounging in the sand, remember? Not that you're going to see anything either way." She was already making for the bedroom, and Gambit fell into step behind her.

"I'd settle for a few snaps," Gambit tried, but Purdey just shot a mildly amused look over her shoulder as she passed through the beaded curtain. He turned serious. "Really, though, Purdey. Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Purdey slid one of the mirrored closet doors to the side, and fumbled about in the dark depths of the top shelf as she replied. "You've seen me kick," she reminded, hands seeking out a familiar solid shape.

"It's not your abilities I'm worried about," Gambit replied, reaching over Purdey's head and closing his hand around the handle of a suitcase, hauling it down from where it lay hidden beneath a pair of heavy quilts. "Looking for this?"

"Yes, thank you." Purdey grasped the handle herself, covering Gambit's hand in the process. Gambit didn't let go, and she locked eyes with her colleague, the case forming a barrier between them. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Do you?" Gambit's gaze was penetrating, but she couldn't look away. "You haven't answered my question."

"Look," Purdey hissed in frustration. "If I don't do this, I'm going to hate myself for backing down. I'm not denying it'll be hard at first, but I've got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to the last place my father ever saw, and in the same capacity, as an agent. To know how he felt. Wouldn't you take that chance?"

Gambit sighed and relinquished the case. "I guess so," he admitted reluctantly. "But I can't shake this felling that something is going to happen to you on this assignment. Something you'll be unprepared for. And I'm not going to be there to help."

Purdey carried the case over to the bed. "You," she began, punctuating her words with the opening clicks of the clasps, "Mike Gambit." Clack. "Are behaving like an old mother hen." She eased the case open and returned to the closet, where Gambit was still posted with worried eyes.

"Last time you said that, we almost lost you," he reminded, and Purdey turned her head away as she pulled back the corners of her mouth in a wince. The memory of her curare poisoning was too vivid, the feeling of her body slowly shutting down. It wouldn't do any good to let him see her dismay—then he'd be even harder to convince. She made sure she was composed before she looked back at him.

"Last time you also had a lead," she pointed out. "Like Steed said, what do you have now?"

"I know," Gambit sighed. "Just a feeling."

"Feelings can be wrong."

"Sometimes."

"Then I'll be fine." Purdey set about packing a pantsuit in a camouflage print and a pair of boots, before making another trip to the closet. Gambit caught her arm gently before she could motor past him again. "Mike," she protested at his anxiously working jaw. "I'll only be gone a few days. Fly in, get rid of the case, fly back. There's not much that can go wrong."

"Maybe not," Gambit allowed. "But I've had experience with simple operations going wrong. Very wrong."

Purdey smiled lopsidedly. "This isn't about your habit of driving into walls during that racing stint, is it?"

But Gambit wasn't smiling. "No," he said flatly. "Something else. But I don't want you to find out first hand. If you're dead set on doing this, promise you'll be careful. Don't make me come and get you."

"I'll be careful," she promised, and he released her arm. "But it won't come to that. I'll be back before you know it, and you can take me out to dinner."

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Gambit's eyes had a spark of mischief in them. "Just the two of us?" he asked hopefully.

"And Steed," Purdey clarified, and Gambit's face fell as soon as it had lifted.

"Well," he mused. "You could always stay on a little longer, and I could come join you on the beach…"

"Don't get any ideas," Purdey warned, but Gambit was warming to the idea.

"I've got some leave stored up. You've got a swimsuit in here somewhere, don't you?" He moved to rifle through Purdey's wardrobe, and she was across the room like a shot.

"Mike Gambit, don't you dare!" But she was laughing before long.


	6. Message Home

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Purdey emerged, blinking, from her airplane and made her way dazedly into the Eduardo Gomes International Airport. Opened only the year before, it was the first in the country, it still shone with newness. Purdey, after connections and jet lag, was hardly fit to appreciate this new piece of architecture, nor was her purpose like that of her fellow passengers, bleary-eyed but chomping at the bit to check into the Tropical Manaus, or one of the other luxury hotels, and pay a visit to the sites, perhaps the new Zoological Gardens. Instead, she kept a watchful eye open for anyone showing a little too much interest in the briefcase in her left hand. She'd refused to handcuff it to her wrist, pointing out to the man who had delivered it to her that it would only make her easier to spot, but she did have a firm grip on it, and even as she set about retrieving the rest of her luggage, the cargo was never far from her mind.

She was relieved to finally arrive at her hotel, to look out over the city. Once upon a time, rubber had driven the economy, but over the years it had ceded to industry and finance, and the tourists who were more than willing to explore the nearby jungle by boat or on foot. Purdey envied them their leisurely perspective on the mass of greenery, and of the extensive network of rivers that would take her to the camp where Grey's people were waiting for her special delivery. Purdey would have preferred to take Gambit's suggestion and lounge about on the sand of the Ponta Negra beach. But the jet lag would have to subside for her to enjoy it properly, and she wasn't going to be here long enough for that.

She breathed the air and let the sun bathe her in its healing light, willed herself to relax. The instant she had stepped into the city proper, she'd felt a rush of emotion. This was the last place her father had been before he died. The last country. These sights must have been among the last to grace his eyes. Had it looked this way when he had visited eleven years earlier? Had he smelt the same smells, heard the same sounds, felt the sun on his skin the way she was feeling it on hers? Had he been apprehensive of his assignment, the way Gambit and Steed were about hers? She knew so little about his death, even to this day. Not much more than the reporters who had splashed the story across every paper, squawking about the British civil servant shot as a spy, and the vehement denials by the country's government. And everywhere she'd gone, she couldn't escape it. As soon as anyone heard her name, there would be the question: "No relation to that chap in the papers?" Phrased differently, but the content was always the same. "Yes," she'd said at first, and told them she was his daughter. The condolences had been a help at first, a reassurance that he wasn't forgotten, that others cared too. But as it had gone on, and the story has morphed and mutated until it was unrecognisable, the questions got worse. Just when she thought the storm had passed, someone would look at her surname and ask—or just stare, which was even worse. That was when she'd made the decision. Purdey. Just Purdey. No Miss, Ms., or Mrs. Purdey. Now and forever.

It had helped that it made a brilliant stage name, given her new confidence to grow and expand beyond the rumours. And it meant that Larry hadn't known, not when he first appeared at the back door of the theatre, asking if he could please meet the lovely young woman who had danced to the left of the lead...

Purdey jerked away from the balcony, desperate to fend off those memories. She glanced about her room, looking for something to occupy her time until that airline meal worked its way through her digestive system and she was ready to sample the local cuisine. But she'd read the file a dozen times, and the case was safely stowed. Her eyes settled on the telephone. A glance at her watch and a quick mental calculation revealed that it was half past five in London. Purdey settled onto the bed and dialled a number—long-distance.

It rang three times before she finally got a reply, and then it was half-unintelligible for the violins zinging energetically in the background. Somewhere in the midst of the symphony she detected a faint "Gambit."

"Mike?" Purdey tried, putting a hand to her other ear in an attempt to ward off further distraction. "Are you there?"

"Purdey?" Gambit's voice was a little stronger this time, as though he'd wandered away from the source. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I'm just—" Purdey scowled as Mozart got a little more enthusiastic. "I'm not competing with your accompaniment," she told the phone.

"Hang on." She heard Gambit's footsteps and the Mozart built in intensity before coming to an abrupt end. "Sorry."

Purdey smirked. "Don't apologise. I've got all the time in the world. I reversed the charges."

"Thanks," Gambit said sarcastically. "You'll have me bankrupt by the time I'm forty." There was the sound of him moving again, then an audible click over the line. "I just scrambled us," he informed. "What's Brazil like?"

"Hot," Purdey said truthfully, tugging at the hem of her short-sleeved shirt and flapping it for relief. "The air-conditioning doesn't help much. And I think I managed half a tan just leaving the airport."

"You're doing better than us," Gambit confided. "It's been raining cats and dogs since noon. Steed actually had to use his brolly the way it was intended."

Purdey chuckled. "I don't imagine he liked that."

"He was a bit miffed, actually. Apparently after it's unfurled the balance is shot." She heard a bit of rustling as Gambit settled onto what was probably the couch. "Hot, you say?" he added thoughtfully.

"Boiling," Purdey confirmed, then realised where the conversation was heading. "And if you ask me what I'm wearing, Mike Gambit, I just might stay here permanently."

"Who, me?" Gambit asked innocently. "But if you felt like sharing…"

"Mike…"

"How's the courier job going?" Gambit jumped in, staving off a lecture.

Purdey sighed. "Well, I obviously haven't been hit over the head and shipped to Siberia. As near as I can tell, I haven't been followed. The most exciting thing that's happened all day was getting an extra snack on the plane. If things continue at this rate, the greatest threat's going to be boredom."

"Good," Gambit said with feeling. "I'd just as soon you have all your excitement here."

"With you?" Purdey queried with a grin. "Quarter to six and listening to Mozart. The life of the swinging bachelor. Do you have some hot tea and a crumpet standing by?"

"Depends on your definition of crumpet," Gambit quipped, and Purdey could almost hear his grin. "But I didn't feel much like going out, not with you over there. I've been trying to unwind with the music, but I think it's going to take you standing in my door before I can relax."

Purdey rolled her eyes expansively as she stretched out on the bed. "You're still not worked up about this, are you? I told you I was fine."

"I know, I'm being ridiculous," Gambit conceded with a sigh, "but I can't shake that feeling. Anyway, if everything's going so well, why did you call? Don't tell me you missed the sound of my voice?"

Purdey fiddled with her hair. "That'll be the day," she teased. "But it's too early for another meal, and I was looking out at the city, and I started thinking."

"About your dad?" Gambit finished knowingly, and jumped in to fill the silence that Purdey found herself unable to puncture. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I suppose," Purdey quavered, the impact of where she was and what she was doing hitting her suddenly. She reached up to brush away a tear that had escaped her best attempts to leave it unshed. "It's just strange to be here, and know that he came here for similar reasons, expected to be home again soon."

"I know." Gambit's voice was gentle, like a long-distance embrace. "I'm sorry, Purdey-girl. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"You didn't," Purdey protested. "I mean, it's me. And I'm not really crying."

"Yes, you are," Gambit contradicted. "If I was there, I'd take you for a drink, because you sure as hell could use one."

"We can improvise," Purdey told him, rising to dig a small flask out of her suitcase. "I've got something that's nowhere near chilled, but it'll do."

"Hang on." There was the clinking of glasses. "How does scotch sound?"

Purdey smiled into the phone. "Like you. Cheers."

"Cheers." She heard a ringing tap over the line as Gambit toasted her long distance. She sipped her own, too warm, spirit, and felt a little better, before glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I had better get downstairs for lunch or dinner or whatever it is that I'm meant to be eating."

"You're _sure_ you're all right?" Gambit asked worriedly.

"I'm fine, Mike. Really," she assured. "Quit worrying and go out. Find a pub. Have a sandwich. Something. You'll drive yourself mad at this rate."

"But if you need to call someone…"

"I'll contact Steed. Or McKay. You can't live by the phone for the next 48 hours."

"Wanna bet?" Gambit challenged.

"I shouldn't if I were you. The horses haven't been kind lately."

"Point taken," Gambit said with a sigh. "Go enjoy yourself, then."

"I will, as long as that dinner is still on."

"I promised, didn't I?" Gambit reminded. "You and your jet-lagged digestion will be provided for."

"Then you'd better start saving your pennies. This heat's made me ravenous."

"How much food do they have in Brazil?"

"I'm hanging up."

"All right, all right," he said quickly, and then, with affection. "See you later, Purdey."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see her. "You may depend on it."

* * *

Yes, another chapter soon after the last one! But I thought I'd push things along a little. One more chapter after this, and I start fulfilling the summary a bit better than I have thus far. Hope everyone's enjoying it so far. The reviews are much appreciated.


	7. Captured

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Purdey's orders had been to stay in Manaus until the following afternoon in order to identify any suspicious characters eyeing up either her or her cargo. Purdey was on high alert all that evening, despite the soothing effect her call to Gambit had had on her nerves. After dinner she took a brief walk, with the case, and watched for tails, but as far as she could tell, the only thing looking over her shoulder was the ghost of the past. Her father's face loomed large in her mind's eye, the smile she had loved so much lighting up his features. The smile he had given her the day before he left. And never came back. He'd told her he was going to be back soon, to see her dance. He kept half his promise. He returned--but in a box. Purdey couldn't help but draw parallels with her own situation. After all, no one expected Jonathan Bryde to take that bullet, the way she didn't expect this to be much more than an average courier job. But the longer she pondered it, the more the coincidences formed sinister shapes, and she returned quickly to the hotel. As she wove her way through the sights and sounds of Manaus, she reluctantly admitted to herself that she wished that Gambit had come along. Something felt wrong to her, too.

She didn't sleep well that night, whether from jet lag or tensions from the assignment, she didn't know. When she finally did drift off, her dreams were filled with sinister Greys, smiling that smile while her father sank to the ground, and she stood by, frozen, unable to help him. It was half past ten Brazilian time when she finally jerked awake, but sleeping in bore no real consequences. Her trip into the jungle was scheduled for later that afternoon. She took breakfast in her room and wondered what Gambit and Steed were getting up to in her absence, and how much of it she'd be shaking her head at when she got back.

The boat that waited to take her into the jungle was obviously meant for tourists, but the men that had commandeered it spoke English, not Portuguese, and Purdey doubted this particular vessel saw much in the way of the photo-and-souvenir-seeking set. The crew was polite enough and ushered her onboard with her precious cargo after she'd produced enough ID to identify not only herself but the two organizations she was representing. Once she'd settled in, however, her attempts at conversation were politely but firmly discouraged, and Purdey quickly got the hint that in whatever capacity these men had been hired, they couldn't—or wouldn't—exchange words with 'the spy.' She settled into her seat, briefcase clutched in her hands, and took in the great expanse of green as it crept by. The heavy foliage was still drenched from a recent rain, and the smells reminded her of England in their own strange way. At the same time, she felt as though she was being watched by hundreds of pairs of eyes, each tracking her progress with the intention of doing harm. She shivered and concentrated on the river itself.

It was just starting to darken when they arrived at their destination. Purdey climbed out of the boat and found herself face-to-face with another woman who had materialized from the bush. She was petite, but Purdey could tell from the way she moved that size was more than compensated for with athletics. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and the hazel eyes were bright and sparkled with intelligence. She stuck her hand out to Purdey even as the latter started at her sudden appearance. "You must be Purdey," she greeted, and the blonde recovered quickly, offering her own hand in return.

"That's right," she confirmed. "You're Samantha. Samantha Grieve." Purdey couldn't help but note that the girl's surname didn't do her justice. Samantha Grieve was anything but somber.

"Pleased to meet you," Sam replied. "I believe you have something for me?"

Purdey held up the case as evidence. "I'm afraid I've been instructed not to hand it off until we reach the camp," she reminded. That was where the key was, and Purdey, as courier, had to be present when it was opened. That way, there was someone to hold accountable in case anything was mysteriously 'missing.'

"Naturally," Sam agreed, gesturing up a thin footpath. "It's a short walk. One of my colleagues has the key. Please."

Purdey shook her head. "You lead the way. I'm likely to trigger a trap if I go stumbling along."

Sam laughed merrily. "We're not that exciting, I'm afraid, but suit yourself." She started up the path, and Purdey followed.

"I know you can't tell me very much," Purdey acknowledged as they walked, "but what exactly are you doing all the way out here?"

"Surveillance, mainly," Sam informed. "Trying to, at any rate. There's a man that's set up shop somewhere in the jungle, and we think we may have found his base of operations."

"Anyone I know?" Purdey queried. She didn't care particularly, but she felt better making conversation. It distracted her from the jungle and its invisible eyes.

"His name's Pym," Sam revealed, pushing aside a branch. "Watch your step here. It's a bit uneven. Jeremy Pym. He was a respectable British businessman once upon a time. Advised the crown. Worked in coordination with another company for a few years. Then he got caught advising a few other interested parties, if you catch my meaning. He fled, and the rumour is he put down roots here. We're trying to prove it."

"Yes, I think I remember reading something about him," Purdey said vaguely. It had been in the papers around the time her father had died, but she'd been too busy mourning to pay much attention to the news. Sam had suddenly clammed up, and Purdey knew that she wasn't going to share much more. It didn't matter. They'd arrived at the camp.

Grey's overseas base had been set up in a clearing, sheltered from prying eyes in the sky by the thick canopy. It was a cosy little cluster of tents and equipment, with people bustling back and forth. One caught sight of them and broke away from the crowd. He introduced himself as Peters, the all-important holder of the key.

They had the all-important opening ceremony in one of the tents, and Purdey looked on with barely contained boredom as Grieve and Peters rifled through the documents and declared the delivery a success. By now the light had faded a great deal, and Purdey was more than happy to accept the tent that Sam led her to for the night. The last thought Purdey had as her head hit the pillow was how nice it would be to go home tomorrow. She would not have slept as soundly as she did had she know that of those 100 pairs of eyes she had felt on her back, only 99 were imaginary.

***

The gunshot was deafening in the peaceful night, and Purdey was awake and alert instantly, eyes probing the darkness for suspicious shadows. The shot was soon followed by others, many, from half a dozen different weapons if Purdey's ear was good. She could at least discern two distinctive coughs, one of game rifles, the other service revolvers. The gun battle was most definitely two-sided, but who was winning was anyone's guess. There were sparks and torchlights flickering beyond the canvas of her tent, throwing silhouettes of running figures into sharp relief. They were under attack. It didn't matter by whom, not now that her adrenaline had kicked in. She dropped onto her stomach and started to crawl from beneath the mosquito netting toward her gear, lying off to one side, feeling about blindly in the interior for her gun. She cursed as her hand located everything but. She didn't utilize a gun as often as Gambit, and that meant she'd gotten less accustomed to carrying it around on her person. Now she would have killed for a shoulder holster like Mike's. Mike himself wouldn't go amiss, either, but even Gambit couldn't ride to the rescue over five timezones, and anyway, she could handle this herself. _Ah!_ Success! Purdey closed her hand around the butt, extracted it from the depths of the pack. She gave the clip a quick check before crawling to the tent flap and peeking out.

The camp was in chaos. Agents were everywhere, seeking cover behind vehicles, trees, whatever was handy. Purdey could just make out Sam Grieve ducked behind the blinding glare of headlights. She was peering round the bonnet of a car, using the light to hide her from the enemy. Purdey glanced away from her to size up her opponents. A group of rough-looking hooligans, brandishing the rifles she'd identified earlier. Mercenaries, most likely. They looked like they were enjoying themselves. She'd put a stop to that. She took the safety off with a satisfying click.

Neither side had noticed her as yet, and Purdey used the confusion to duck out of her tent and snake round the side. One of the mercenary types had the same idea, and she wasted no time in introducing him to her high-kick and her right hook. He sank to the ground with nary a sound, and Purdey knelt to unclip the torch from his belt. She was still on one side of the tent, and she could hear shots and shouting on the other, but firing blindly was only going to give away her position. Instead, she switched on the torch and lobbed it over the top, hoping it would land with the light shining the right direction.

It did. Three silhouettes were immediately illuminated through the thin canvas as Purdey ducked back inside. Making a quick calculation to take into account the magnification and distortion, Purdey loosed off three shots through the tent wall, and was pleased to see the outlines crumple. She was out again before the trio's friends could gather their wits enough to return fire. She'd have to tell Gambit about that trick. He could add it to his own arsenal.

She was so pleased with herself she neglected to notice the man melting out of the shadows to her left. She was focused on making her way over to Sam, sticking to the edges of the camp, when she felt the cold, familiar sensation of a gun in her back.

"Don't move."

Purdey stiffened immediately, debating whether or not the man would shoot if she wheeled round and delivered another highkick. She might have managed it, but he was quickly joined by two more, all concealed in the trees at the edge of the camp, all lying in wait for someone to stick to the circumference with their attention absorbed by the gunfight within. The first man relieved her of her gun, and the two newcomers flanked her. "Turn round," the first, still unseen, opponent instructed, and Purdey did as she was told.

He wasn't much to look at. Another burly mercenary type, badly in need of a shave and shafted in the neck department. He looked Purdey up and down with interest, and his expression made her skin crawl. His two friends seemed to agree, but the first held them off with a wave of his hand.

"She goes straight to the boss," he reminded, and Purdey could almost feel disappointment radiating off the flankers. "It's all right, Miss. Old Charlie'll make sure you get to Mr. Pym all right. It's once you get to Mr. Pym I'd start worrying." He smiled evilly. "Follow me."

Purdey arched an eyebrow in nonchalance. "And if I don't?"

Charlie frowned. "You had to ask," he muttered, and nodded to his two friends. Purdey tried not to cry out as her arms were wrenched behind her back, and instead concentrated on keeping her balance as Charlie and co. steered her into the jungle.

* * *

Sorry it's been so long between updates. Things got hectic. I haven't forgotten about it, though (but reviews keep my memory sharp! :-) ). Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try and post the next one sooner than I did this one. Purdey's situation has to get worse before it gets better.


	8. Falling

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: Inspired by one throwaway exchange in _Angels of Death_, this is the piece I completed most recently. Meant to explain a few things that went on in the show's second season, it also sets up the rest of the arc in terms of the characters. All the other fics have been fairly plot-light, more or less character studies. I have fun doing character sketches. What can I say? But this one's got a bit more going on in the background, and it sets the tone for the next few stories, a bit darker than I've been posting thus far (nothing too terrible though). Also, this one's long. Really long. Really, really long. And I'm trying to edit it with what little spare time I have. So expect to see this one to be updated for months as opposed to weeks. I hope you enjoy it.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

It was hard to know how far they walked. Charlie and company's route was rife with twists and turns, but Purdey wasn't certain if the convoluted route was meant to confuse her, lose possible pursuers, or was just an unintended consequence of trudging through untamed wilderness. They were far enough away that the sounds of the gun battle were fading into the distance, and Purdey held onto the faint hope that she'd be able to take out Charlie and his friends and use the discord to guide her back to the camp. It was looking increasingly unlikely, though—neither man had loosened his grip on her arms, not even when she stumbled over roots and other debris in the darkness. She tried going limp once or twice, but that only made them drag her over the rough terrain, and that was even more painful. After the first dozen bruises, Purdey gave up and focused on saving her strength for the inevitable confrontation with Charlie's lord and master. Maybe he'd let his guard down—the masterminds always did.

The four of them eventually broke through the trees, and Purdey, blinking at the light of a newly uncovered moon, found herself looking over edge of what was a very steep drop. Between the forest floor and the edge an area had been cleared, maybe twenty feet in width. The drop itself wasn't sheer, but steeper than any rolling hill in England—hard work either uphill or down, and even harder if you tripped and let gravity take its course. Purdey wasn't certain which frightened her more—the idea of going over the edge, or the fact that she was feeling desperate enough to try it. Because she'd seen the 'boss' now, surveying the jungle below like a warlord tallying up his spoils. He had a pair of friends from the same high class as Charlie's restrainers, but Purdey wasn't nearly as concerned about them. The man, standing there, bathed in shadow and moonlight, looked like some sort of phantom, risen from a long dead past to haunt her. Purdey felt a chill run up her spine, and bit down hard to prevent her fears finding their way onto her face. Charlie was walking their little foursome over to join the others, and she took the time to gather her wits for the interrogation she was certain would come.

The phantom turned only when Purdey had been brought to stand before him. Purdey got her first good look at him, and wasn't certain if it made her feel better or worse. The man was blond, with blue eyes that shone brightly in Charlie's torchlight and a boyish, easy smile that spread across his face the minute he caught sight of Purdey. He looked as though he wouldn't hurt a fly, the good old boy who'd be the first to crack wise and buy you a drink. In Purdey's eyes, it only made things worse.

"So," her boyish phantom said to Charlie, eyes wandering over Purdey's frame, "this is her, is it?"

Charlie nodded in confirmation. "'S right. Just like you asked."

"Good, good," the blond man said thoughtfully. "Do you have any idea who I am?" he asked Purdey, eyes filled with genuine curiousity.

Purdey feigned deep thought. "Let's see," she mused, as though she were merely deciding between coffee or tea at a stylish restaurant. "As you've mounted an attack on the surveillance team, I'd say you were Jeremy Pym, or at the very least one of his inner circle."

"No, no," Pym assured with a smile. "You were right the first time. I'm Pym. You've heard of me then?"

Purdey shrugged unconcernedly. "Only from the others."

Pym cocked his head to one side. "_Only_ from the others?" he queried. "Nowhere else?"

Purdey scowled. If there was one thing worse than a diabolical mastermind, it was a publicity-seeking diabolical mastermind. "You may have popped up in the papers once or twice years ago," she said casually, "but then I pay more attention to the crossword."

Pym's face split into a huge grin, and he chuckled contentedly to himself. "You disappoint me, my dear. You may only know me as a name and a headline, but I know you very, very well—Purdey Bryde."

Purdey didn't like the way he said her name, spat with a mixture of contempt and outright hatred. She squared her shoulders—a difficult task with her arms still held securely—and looked Pym in the eye. "You can't expect me to be impressed with your remarkable ability to read a passenger list," she said dryly. She'd used a fake identity to enter Brazil, but it was easy enough to figure out her real alias if one knew the right people, and there was no doubt in her mind that Pym did.

"No, I suppose not," Pym agreed with a slight nod of the head, "but I know you from much more than a plane trip."

Purdey snorted. "If this is about the delivery, you're wasting your time. I was only a courier. I don't have the slightest idea what was inside the case."

"Do you think I give a damn about the case?" Pym chortled. "Oh, my dear Miss Bryde, you're all I'm interested in. You and your admirable courage in taking up the family business."

Purdey really didn't like the way he said that, nor the implications. How did this man know about her family? The world lurched sickeningly. "What…?" she managed weakly.

"Jonathan Bryde," Pym elaborated, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. "Civil servant. Euphemism for agent, really, wasn't it?"

"You knew my father?" Purdey asked in a daze.

Pym smirked. "'Knew' is putting it mildly. He was a thorn in my side for years. Had his eye on me, tracked my every moment, and finally, one day, he uncovered my dealings while I was collaborating with another company on government business. Board of Directors let a spy into their midst, and I had to run. But he didn't give up." The anger was building up now.

Purdey smiled with pride. "He was stubborn," she said, knowing her father's hard-headed persistence was matched only by her own.

"Damnedly so," Pym agreed, meeting Purdey's eyes and returning the smile. "But it was his undoing in the end."

Purdey felt all the levity drain out of her. "I don't understand."

Pym walked right up to her, leaned in until his face was mere inches from hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath, even in the pleasant night. "He couldn't let me go," he hissed, "even after I'd fled the country. He tracked me. Here."

Purdey's jaw dropped, and if it weren't for the two men still clutching her arms, she might have collapsed. The pieces fell into place with sickening clarity. "You," she whispered, then again, with feeling. "You! You killed my father!"

Pym's smile widened. "There we are. I knew you'd come up with the answer eventually."

Purdey was struggling against the hands now, and for the first time her handlers were unsure of their ability to hold her. Purdey's face was a mask of hatred, angry tears sliding down her cheeks as she screamed at Pym's back. "You bastard! You killed him, all alone, out here! He didn't have his gun, and you shot him, like a coward! You ruined everything!"

"He ruined everything for me!" Pym yelled back. "It wasn't as though I didn't give him fair warning. I sent someone to your house, years ago, to take care of you and your mother."

Purdey's eyes widened, mind flashing back to the day the bullet had crashed through the window, and visions of her mother dragging the family's antique Purdey off the wall—and using it. "That was you?"

Pym shrugged. "I didn't particularly care if he did the job, just as long as he got the message across. But apparently daddy didn't love you enough to take up a desk job."

"Stop it!" Purdey screamed. "You didn't know him! If that's true, he did what he did to protect us!"

"Oh, I knew him," Pym said quietly. "Better than you ever did, because I was the only one there when he died. I know what he said, and how he looked. I can still see him, standing there, looking just as you do now. The resemblance is quite striking in places. The jaw's dead on, and the colour of the eyes." He reached out and ran a finger along Purdey's lower jaw, and she recoiled violently. "But I do agree with you—shooting him wasn't the honourable way to end things, but I couldn't risk getting any closer. But you—well, you're not going to do much of anything, are you? Charlie's men will make certain of that. Bryde cheated me with his death, but I think after this, I'll have finally settled the score. He would have done anything to protect his precious daughter, but as he's not here, I can do things properly this time. Intimately." As he spoke, he withdrew a very long, very wicked knife from his belt, and aimed it casually at her throat. "I had it made special," he said conversationally. "It's perfectly balanced."

Purdey resisted the urge to flinch away as the blade traced over her clavicle and started the slow journey toward her neck. She didn't dare swallow, so much as twitch, not when she could feel the cool metal's sharpness against her skin. Pym slid the tip under the fine gold chain she wore around her neck, turning it this way and that so he could watch it glint in the moonlight. "How long do you think you could last," he wondered aloud, "if I took my time?"

Despite her pounding heart, Purdey fixed him with a poisonous stare. "I'd be more worried about how long you'll last when my colleagues find you," she growled.

Pym snorted, and Purdey felt the blade nick her at the base of her throat. "That lot back at the camp? Anyone who survives will be evacuated within the next 24 hours. No one's going to come looking for you, Purdey. Not for a long, long time."

Purdey smiled madly. "You're behind on your reading," she mocked. "Otherwise you'd know who I meant. If you kill me, that'll only bring them here, and I can promise you that it won't be—"

She was cut off as a shot rang through the night, and Purdey looked over Pym's shoulder just in time to see Charlie's huge frame fold to the ground. There were voices coming from the forest, and Purdey realized that a small segment of the fight had drifted this far. That meant at least one reinforcement, maybe more. She wasn't the only one whose attention had been diverted—Pym, knife still in place, was glancing over his shoulder, riveted on Charlie's still form. The loosened grip of the other two men on her arms also spoke of broken concentration. Purdey knew she wouldn't get another chance.

She planted her foot in the middle of Pym's chest and pushed, using the leverage to pull free from the other two. Pym staggered back with such force that he lost control of his knife, and the blade swept down and across her clavicle, before arching back up and tangling up in her chain. Purdey felt the links dig into the back of her neck, even as she became painfully aware of the precariousness of her footing on the ledge. Time stopped, as Purdey, arms windmilling madly, felt gravity slowly take hold, and the chain tighten to breaking point. The metallic snap seemed deafeningly loud, and then the metal was no longer biting into her skin. Unfortunately, it was the only thing that had been keeping her on the right side of gravity. Purdey felt herself falling, tried desperately to right herself, hands grasping for a something, anything, even Pym, to cling to, but to no avail. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as her feet lost their purchase on the cliff and she started the long trip down into the darkness.

She didn't actually fall for very long, instead making contact with the side of the hill a few feet down. She hit it hard, and wrong, with no time to brace herself, and she cried out in pain as her right side took the full brunt of the impact. She heard bone crack, and knew she'd fractured both wrist and ribs, at the very least, but there was no time to think, to dwell, to do much of anything except protect her head as she rolled down, down, down.

Rocks added to a growing collection of bruises. Branches tore at her clothes and skin. Purdey could smell blood mixed with her sweat, felt the sting of a hundred cuts and gashes over her unprotected arms. Why hadn't she put her jacket back on before she'd left the tent? Another part of her brain pointed out that it wouldn't have done much good. Her trousers had already caught and torn on several types of Amazon foliage, and she could feel the cool breeze on the newly exposed skin. She tried her best not to make anymore noise, not to grunt as she clipped yet another tree trunk, lest Pym and his men decide to give chase, but she'd already stirred up enough birds to make the goal redundant. Besides, all Pym would have to do was follow the swath she was cutting through the jungle. _On the other hand_, she tried to tell herself, _maybe Grieve's people can use it to find me._

_I hope they know first-aid._

Until now, the slope had been steep, but short of a sheer drop. Purdey found herself missing it as it suddenly disappeared, and she was once again falling through the thin air. She screwed her eyes shut and prayed that the drop wasn't far, but the way her body felt from the trip, she wasn't certain if death-by-impact was such a terrible fate after all.

As it turned out, the drop was another short one. Purdey took the impact on her back this time, but some of the foliage took her side for a change and cushioned her fall. Nevertheless, she lay for a moment, dazed and disoriented, staring blankly up at the forest canopy. After a few minutes, she mustered the wherewithal to start taking a mental inventory of her injuries. Her ribs and wrist were definitely the worst off, but the rest was no more than cuts and bruises. Purdey breathed a tentative sigh of relief. The worst was over. All she needed to do now was find her way back to the camp. There was no sign of Pym's people, and she knew who to look out for. She'd be all right. After all, she'd survived worse than this, was always getting the stuffing knocked out of her, and she always managed to survive.

_No, wait, that's Mike._ Well, if Mike Gambit could do it, so could she.

Purdey shook off thoughts of him and home, and set about propping herself gently up on her elbows with the intention of getting her bearings. In the end her gaze didn't move much beyond her torso. Purdey felt her heart stop. There, illuminated by the light of the moon, was a tarantula, currently moving up her leg at a slow, leisurely crawl. A few inches up, on her thigh, Purdey could see a portion of exposed flesh where her trousers had torn away. And the tarantula, damn it, had just chosen this particular spot to have a rest.

Purdey lay very still, willing herself not to breathe, not to think, not to do anything that might disturb the creature. She didn't know for certain if it was poisonous, but she wasn't interested in finding out. At the very least, it seemed uninterested in this trespasser in its natural environment, content to crouch on what was no doubt a very warm and pleasant place to be.

_Gambit would__ agree, at least_, she thought to herself, settling in to wait the oversized arachnid out.

She might have done it, too, if the shooting hadn't started again, somewhere above. It was so sudden, Purdey couldn't help but start in surprise. And the tarantula, disturbed from its pleasant doze, took its revenge.

Purdey screamed in fear and agony as the fangs dug into her skin. The tarantula scuttled off with the satisfaction of a job well done. But Purdey was left gaping at a quickly swelling mass on her leg. This time there would be no Gambit to run a target range for antidote, no Steed to drive while Mike tended to her in the back seat. No one to come to her rescue. She was going to die here, alone, just as her father had eleven years before, a fate she was certain she'd avoid with two friends to share in the adventure. But even Mike Gambit and John Steed couldn't leap across oceans and continents. Not in time, anyway. Purdey felt a single tear trickle down her cheek. _You were right, Mike. I shouldn't have come._

But as she slowly gave in to the blackness, she could have sworn that the shadows looming over her were human in shape…

Beside her, embedded in the ground blade first, was Pym's knife. As Purdey slipped away into unconsciousness, a hand dislodged it and lifted it, point first, over her body.

Someone screamed.


	9. Premonition

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

Author's Note: As was noted in a review a couple of weeks back, there are apparently no tarantulas with bites that are actually fatal to humans. But since this story is based around a mention in _Angels of Death_, and it's made quite clear that Purdey nearly died of tarantula poisoning, we're just going to pretend Avengerland is occupied by a particularly nasty variety of giant arachnid. It's a lot more plausible than the giant man-eating plant from space.

I've been terribly busy lately, and as such haven't had time for updates. That is also why this chapter is so unforgiveably short. Rest assured there will be another, longer addition in a week or two. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far. Stay tuned...

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

* * *

Gambit could hear the scream in his head. The only problem was it wasn't his voice. He bolted upright, going from sleep to wakefulness in no time at all, desperately trying to slow his pounding heart before it burst from his chest. He brought a hand up to his face and wiped away the sweat beaded on his upper lip. Something was wrong--terribly, horribly, sickeningly wrong. He didn't know where the feeling came from, what it meant, if it was instinct or premonition, but he was surer of it than anything in his life. The only question was: what? He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was getting on to morning. He mentally cycled back through the timezones for Purdey's local time. Still several hours before she was due back in Manaus, let alone London. He massaged his temples tiredly, despite his still-trembling hands. By that point he'd have a migraine to rival his last post-Steed's birthday hangover.

The phone rang, once, urgent and shrill. Gambit winced and staggered out of bed and answered it with a weariness that he wouldn't have felt the night before.

"Gambit."

"Mike?" It was Steed. "I think you'd better get down here. Right away." The next two words explained every tremor. "It's Purdey."

Gambit felt blindly for a seat, sank into it just as his legs gave way beneath his weight. "What about Purdey? What's happened?"

Steed paused, too long for the next words to be anything good. "She's missing," he said finally.

"What the devil do you mean, missing?!" Gambit barked, knowing that it wasn't Steed's fault, but unable to restrain himself. "I thought she was surrounded by Grey's people. One of them must have been keeping an eye on her."

"I suspect several were," Steed concurred darkly, "until they were attacked. At that point I doubt eye contact was their top priority."

"Attacked?" Gambit repeated weakly. "Who…?"

"Get down here and I'll explain," Steed told him. "Or try, at the very least. We're not entirely certain ourselves as to what's transpired. There was a message over the emergency line half an hour ago, and we've been doing our best to decode the Morse. I've a feeling there aren't many people who are able-bodied and calm enough to operate the equipment."

Gambit's vision swam, and the floor looked as though it were perilously close to rocketing toward his skull. "When did it happen?" he managed.

"Two hours ago," Steed informed. "But they only managed a signal half an hour ago. A lot of equipment was damaged. The whole camp was decimated. They're still tending to the wounded and tallying up the dead on both sides. Confusion's reigning supreme. I doubt we'll have any sort of coherent and accurate report before this evening."

"But they definitely said Purdey was missing?" Gambit asked urgently. "If things are that bad, there could be a mistake. Someone slipping up on the Morse, or she's been lost in the shuffle."

Steed's reply wasn't too encouraging. "I put in a special request myself. They seemed quite adamant. It adds up--if Purdey were able, she'd have contacted us herself."

"Unless she's helping with the wounded," Gambit pointed out, then cycled back through the conversation. "Did you say _dead_?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed grimly. "Several on both sides. But Miss Grieve herself told me that Purdey's nowhere to be found among them. She's disappeared completely. The current hypothesis is that the attackers took her, either for her connection to the case, or for hostage purposes."

_Or something else,_ Gambit thought, and felt nausea sweep over him. He knew Steed was thinking the same thing, but neither of them was going to vocalize it.

"I'll be there in ten minutes," he told Steed. "That should Gray enough time to call security."

"What?"

"He'll need it," Gambit growled, "if he doesn't have a damn good explanation." He hung up before Steed could comment.


	10. State of Affairs

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Right, back into it. I'll try and get another chapter or two up before Christmas to make up for the gap in updates. In light of the season, I'll take this opportunity to plug "Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit," which you might want to give a look if you haven't yet.

*pluggity plug*

Also, thanks go to rabidsamfan for betaing duties on this chapter.

* * *

Gambit strode purposefully through the Ministry corridors, paying no heed to the looks he was getting. Besides the fact that he looked ready to commit murder, he'd cut himself shaving, part of the overall botch job he owed to his badly-shaking hands. The blood he'd seen in the sink had set his mind racing toward all sorts of possibilities, none of which were too comforting. He wanted—needed—answers, and Grey was going to provide them if he wanted to live to see his _next_ interdepartmental collaboration.

The secretary at the front desk had informed him that Grey and his team had set up a temporary headquarters in the large meeting room usually reserved for dull departmental get-togethers reserved for meetings concerning protocol, most of which went on for far too long. Gambit usually ended up doodling in the corner of his memo pad, until Purdey would notice and start adding her own artistic creations. Past the hour mark, and they'd usually have a long transcript of comments discussing everything from what sort of noxious cologne Tyler was wearing, to which version of "Invasion of the Bodysnatchers" had done the original justice. Eventually Steed would pass down a note asking about lunch plans. Occasionally someone would spoil the fun and ask pointedly if the pair of them were paying attention. This never worked, because Purdey inevitably told them 'yes,' and smiled beatifically. If that didn't work with the fellow doing the briefing, it was her habit to turn her chair to face him and fix him with a look of extreme interest, in the process crossing her long legs decoratively. If all else failed, the gams would triumph. In fact, Gambit had noticed that Purdey's skirts tended to be an inch or two higher on meeting days. He reminded himself of this fact whenever he was feeling down. The bottom line was Purdey could have the whole male segment of the department eating out of the palm of her hand, and saying she was at a disadvantage as a woman in the Ministry wasn't strictly true.

Gambit found his way to the door, cocked his head to listen to the bustle within before actually turning the knob. What he found was a team clearly in emergency mode—phones ringing, people manning Morse stations, men consulting maps and rifling through files. He could smell panic, sweat, stress, stale coffee. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, Steed emerged, an island of solemn calm, seemingly unaffected by the world going to hell in a handbasket. Gambit would have believed that himself if it weren't for the small crease between the eyes. John Steed was worried, and as Purdey would have been quick to point out, Steed never worried—not unless he was worried. He met the senior agent halfway.

"What's the latest?" Gambit asked immediately, skipping the pleasantries. "Anything about Purdey?"

Steed shook his head. "I'm afraid not, and I've stopped asking for the moment. The lines are overburdened as it is. We'll have to wait until things settle down before we're going to be able to feed anyone more questions.

"Where's Grey, then?" Gambit wanted to know, eyes scanning the room. "I'll have a word with him in the meantime."

"Several words, I expect," Steed murmured, but turning to lead the way regardless. "He's through here." He indicated a door at the opposite end of the meeting room, painted the same chalky blue that as the rest of the meeting room, and Gambit frowned in spite of himself.

"What's he doing in the broom closet?"

Steed arched an eyebrow. "It's not a broom closet," he said seriously, too serious to actually _be_ serious. "It's a 'temporary office slash storage facility'."

Gambit snorted. "I don't care what the 'official' name for it is, I wouldn't hang my coat in there. I don't think it's been dusted since 1973."

"Yes, but it was all McKay could spare just now, so our friend from MI12 will just have to make do," Steed said blithely.

"McKay knows as well as you and me that no one's moved into Wiggins' office since he retired last month," Gambit reminded, knowing very well what was behind the placement and suddenly feeling a warmth of goodwill toward the Ministry's head man.

"Well, you know how forgetful Tommy has been of late," Steed replied, the picture of innocence.

"Selectively forgetful," Gambit amended.

"The best kind." Gambit allowed himself a small smile while Steed knocked.

The grunt that came from within wasn't exactly an invitation to enter, but Steed interpreted it as such. The office was tiny, and Steed and Gambit could barely shut the door without banging their knees on the edge of the jammed-in desk. Grey himself was hunched over his desk, poring over what appeared to be a hastily-written report by one of the Morse operators. He had a sour look on his face that only got sourer when he saw who his company was—Steed was by now a common fixture, but Gambit was a brand new annoyance. Grey pulled off his glasses and fixed Mike with a mixture of resignation and resent. "Purdey?" he almost snarled.

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "How did you guess?"

"Look, I'm rather busy—"

"Not busy enough," Gambit growled. "Otherwise you'd be out there trying to find Purdey like the rest of your people."

"Need I remind you, Mr. Gambit, that there were other people besides Purdey at the camp, some of whom lost their lives?"

Gambit put his hands, palms down, on Grey's desk, and met his gaze. "Right, but Purdey was the only one you badgered into going there in the first place."

Grey sighed and rubbed his temples, as though staving off a headache. "What do you want, Mr. Gambit?"

"The full story," Gambit told him.

"If it'll let me get back to my job…" Grey grumbled. "I'd offer you a seat, but this office is so damn small."

"I'll stand," Gambit said flatly, and Steed looked prepared to do the same.

"As I told Mr. Steed," Grey began, "my people were overseas running surveillance on one Jeremy Pym. British businessman. Industrialist. Very respectable in the sixties. His company worked in a collaborative capacity with several British companies handling Crown contracts. He had a very rich pool of brilliant minds under him, and he'd run consults in exchange for a cut of the profits, find ways to improve on original plans and designs.

"To put it simply, back in '66 Pym was caught selling classified information about one of those government contracts to the other side. The corporation had a spy working for them, and he uncovered a whole string of shady dealings stretching back a decade. He was quite clever, really—didn't sell out every contract, and made certain that his people got ahold of a few plans with which he wasn't directly connected. Kept people from catching on. "

"But he was caught?" Gambit broke in.

"Caught out," Grey clarified. "We knew what he'd done, but he managed to flee the country before we could bring him in. He disappeared into South America and hasn't returned to England since. We were aware that he had an interest in Brazil, and tracked down a base in the jungle. The only problem is we can't connect him with it because the man doesn't show himself. We're almost certain the operation's his, but we can't prove it. And we can't prove what's going on inside, either."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Another strain of the intelligence business. We think he may be providing a service cracking the tough nuts that prove a little too stubborn."

"So you've been waiting for him to put in an appearance," Gambit stated. "But Pym knows your outfit is watching. That's why you brought Purdey in. She's not on his list yet."

Grey looked mildly uncomfortable for a moment, but then nodded. "That's right. But Pym's let us alone for the time being. We didn't think he'd be brazen enough to launch an attack on the camp."

Gambit swallowed. "How many?"

"Are dead?" Grey finished. "About half a dozen on our side that have been confirmed, but it's early days yet. Even more on theirs, but we've got wounded to consider. It was around eleven last night their time, but they couldn't find an undamaged radio and make contact until ninety minutes after the fact. Now we're trying to figure out the best way to provide assistance. For all we know, Pym's got people lying in wait, ready to sabotage a rescue operation."

"It might have been straight intimidation," Gambit suggested. "If he withdrew early, he might only want your people to clear out. Who had the upper hand?"

Grey looked undecided. "Hard to say," he replied. "We did take out several of his men, but he may have had a second wave stored up. He may have cut his losses, or he may have been sending a message. Either way, I'm not sending anyone else in until I know they're not going to end up dead, too."

"Purdey may not have much time," Gambit snapped. "You need search parties, and you need them now."

"I will not send my people in to be slaughtered for one girl!"

"She wouldn't even be in this mess if it weren't for you!" Gambit retorted. "That's why she was taken, wasn't it? Because she was the courier, and Pym knows it."

"Or as a hostage," Grey countered. "In which case we'll hear from Pym soon enough. Either way, I think it would be better if you let me get on with my job."

"I want to help," Gambit persisted.

"Good. Then you can get out of my way for an hour or so. That would do nicely."

Gambit was ready with a comeback, but he felt Steed's hand on his shoulder.

"He's right, Mike. We'll come back later when there's more information." The voice was kind but didn't leave room far argument. Gambit worked his jaw, but did as he was bid, following Steed out of the cramped quarters. But he gave Grey one last look to let him know he'd be back soon.

* * *

There was a small break room down the hall from Grey's HQ, and Steed steered a shaking--from either shock or anger, he didn't know--Gambit inside, closing the door behind them. Gambit staggered over to the small table usually reserved for meaningless chats over coffee and collapsed heavily into a chair, strong fingers angrily kneading his temples. Steed took the seat opposite, laced his fingers, and waited for the younger man to work out his initial frustrations. He'd let Gambit have the first word on the subject. Steed didn't exactly have any brilliant openers in mind as it was.

"I knew it."

Steed looked up from the sugar bowl, nestled between the creamer and the used but empty coffee cup that some careless Ministry employee hadn't seen fit to rinse, despite the polite but firm sign instructing otherwise. "Explain."

"I knew it," Gambit repeated angrily, thumping his hand uselessly against the table top, causing both sugar and cream to leap nervously. "I _knew_ something was going to go wrong, and that Purdey was going to be in the middle of it. And there's not a snowball's chance in hell Grey's going to give her priority over his own people." He shook his head, moved to stand. "That's it. We've got to get over there. _I've_ got to get over there. Someone's got to look out for her, because from the sounds of things she might not be in very good shape."

Steed reached out and clamped a hand around Gambit's arm. "What about Grey?"

Gambit's face twisted into an ugly scowl. "Grey can go—"

"Mike, if you go off the rails now, Grey could have you drummed out of the service by the time you get back."

"I don't care," Gambit said stubbornly. "As long as we get Purdey back."

"Gambit, I want Purdey found just as much as you, but take a moment. We don't know where she's been sent, who's waiting for us at the other end. Grey's people will need at least 24 hours to even start picking up the pieces, and there's still the small matter of tracing out a safe route by which to send assistance. Right now no one has the intel you'd need to mount an operation, and if Purdey has been taken hostage, you're being there could jeopardize the situation before we even know what we're dealing with." He sighed tiredly and let Gambit's arm go. "Grey's our only link as of yet. I think it's best that we wait until we have all the facts before we risk alienating him by going on the warpath."

Gambit worked his jaw, but Steed's words made too much sense for him to ignore them entirely. He sat back down resignedly, flipped open the sugar bowl and started mentally counting cubes. "It's just—the longer she's gone, the more they could be…doing to her." He could feel Steed's eyes on him, but couldn't bring himself to meet the gaze. They both lived under the uneasy reality of Purdey's vulnerability in hostage situations, ever since Midas' intentions had been made clear. Just the thought of it made Gambit want to vomit. He didn't need to see the same sentiment reflected in Steed's eyes. "I'm not used to feeling this helpless. Usually there's some place we can start, a lead we can follow. But if Grey's got all the cards, we can't do a damn thing."

"Only until he's met with McKay," Steed pointed out. "Another hour or two, and Grey will have enough information to scrape something together. Once we've heard that, we can start making our own plans."

Gambit smiled crookedly. "Even if they're not rubber-stamped and sanctioned?"

"You said it, not me," Steed said innocently, pushing back a cuff to check his watch. "Do you fancy some breakfast in the meantime, or did your appetite leave with Purdey?"

"Just about," Gambit murmured, "but I won't say no to something hot." His gaze fell on the empty cup. "And the coffee here's lousy."

"There's a restaurant just around the corner run by painfully early risers," Steed informed, with a slight smile. "What they lack in sanity the more than make up for with the kippers."


	11. Coping

* * *

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: As promised, another fresh chapter. I'm going to make an effort to make them longer from now on, so this one should keep you occupied for awhile and move things along a little quicker than they have been thus far.

Enjoy! And Merry Christmas!

* * *

Finder bustled past the hard-working Morse ladies, busily deciphering messages from the four corners of the globe, and set about trying to balance his coffee and paper in one hand while he unlocked the file room door with the other. Somehow he managed it without a scalding, a first for that week. He hummed to himself as he wandered over to his desk, leaving the door ajar to signal to any agent requiring his services that he was open for business. He set the styrofoam cup on the desk with the paper, meaning to start in on the crossword first thing.

There was a soft thud.

Finder straightened in surprise, and peered down one aisle of shelves. Abandoning the crossword for the time being, he set off to investigate, down the middle aisle, and then off to the left. He was surprised by what he found.

Mike Gambit was on his hands and knees, gathering up the scattered pages of a dossier whose home was obviously the large gap in the shelf about three feet above the stool tucked in the corner. Mike looked up from his task and smiled with a touch of embarrassment. "Hello, Finder," he managed. "Er, sorry about the mess. Gave the shelf a bit of a bump, and the lot came down on top of me."

"Quite all right," Finder assured, bending to assist. "Happened to me more than once. The forties have always been a bit unstable." Gambit smiled. Finder was one of the less anal of the Ministry's file clerks, and that made his domain the best place to sneak off for a quiet read whenever he missed his annual checkup and Kendrick sent the cavalry after him. Today he hadn't been looking for a read, though. Today it was the quiet, the solitude, the opportunity to think, that had driven him to this old refuge. After his breakfast with Steed, he'd needed the opportunity to relax, some place away from Grey. Gambit knew better than to let himself wander the halls—he'd wind up back at Grey's, and he wasn't entirely certain how much of his tattered self-control remained. Finder didn't seem to mind, at least, but that didn't mean he didn't owe the man some sort of explanation.

"You've heard about Purdey?" Gambit ventured, and Finder glanced up from gathering pages momentarily, adjusting his glasses to focus on Mike.

"Yes," he confirmed, giving the younger man a once over with an appraising eye. He knew Gambit as one of the more amiable young agents, less likely to take out his frustration for being pushed into research duty on the man in charge of the research material himself. And Gambit was always in particularly high spirits if the young blonde tagged along. Finder liked Purdey, too—a refreshing change from a department consisting almost entirely of men. She knew how to flirt, too—gently, just enough to make him blush, even if it was all done so playfully that they both knew it was nothing more than her way of making him smile. Between the pair of them, they were usually good for an hour's entertainment before the tea trolly made the rounds. Now Mike was drained of spark, looking lost without the girl by his side. "I heard about it through the usual channels. And that Grey fellow's been by more than once, complaining that these files aren't in the database yet. As if it's my fault. Those boys in science can't drag themselves away from the damned machines long enough to put them to use. Not that I'm in any hurry. I've still got a good two or three years before retirement, and I'd just as well leave on my own terms than be chased out by some machine."

Gambit shook his head. "Purdey says you're irreplaceable," he confided, "so I wouldn't worry about the gold watch treatment just yet." The mention of the name chased what little light was left from his eyes. Finder watched sympathetically.

"She's really missing, then? Poor girl. I do wonder about lovely young things like her, out chasing after the dodgy chaps in this business. I was hoping she wouldn't be caught."

"She's been caught plenty of times," Gambit murmured, "but usually I'm around to do something about it."

Finder stood, shuffling the papers in his hands. "She's a fighter, though. I'm sure she'll manage all right until help comes."

"I hope so," was all Gambit had to say, standing as well and handing over his pile of papers. "Sorry about that. I just needed a place to think for a bit, so I let myself in." He held up a piece of wire as evidence, and Finder allowed himself a small smile. "You won't press charges, will you?"

"Won't leave this room, m'boy." Finder checked his watch. "You might want to get a move on, though. My sources tell me that Grey chappie's set a meeting for ten with McKay."

Gambit checked his own watch, arched an eyebrow. "Thanks. I'll come back and help with those, if you want." He pointed his chin at the papers.

Finder waved him off. "No need. Bring Purdey along when you've found her again, that's all."

"Thanks." Gambit seemed to genuinely appreciate the offer, and there was a half a smile for the older man before he left.

***

The meeting was already in session when Gambit poked his head in, to find Grey, McKay, and Steed settled around McKay's desk. There wasn't a chair open, but Gambit wasn't about to let that deter him. He closed the door loudly enough that they turned to see the newcomer. Grey frowned.

"I understood this meeting was open to senior staff only," he said pointedly, as Gambit made his way over to the little group.

"Gambit _is_ senior," Steed asserted, "both among my own people, and in relation to Purdey."

"But he's—" Grey tried to protest, but was cut off by McKay.

"Get on with it, man. We don't have time to waste on squabbling. I've got other things to worry about besides your botched operations." He shuffled some papers irritably.

Grey bit back a retort, and by some miracle regained his composure. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, I've decided to send a clean-up operation, including security. We'll take whatever intel we've gathered and send it back here. All the classified files onsite will need to be destroyed. Can't have Pym using our own files against us."

"Finally," Gambit said with relief. "Now we're getting somewhere. McKay, I'd like permission to fly to Brazil with the crew."

"There's only one spot available for your department," Grey informed, with a ghost of a smile. "He'll be along as an observer, perhaps assisting in analysis of the scene."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "Now just a minute—"

"They are my people, Mr. Gambit. And it was my operation. I feel it's my responsibility to keep as many of your people out of the line of fire as possible. That is what you wanted, isn't it? After all, you lot are impartial, aren't you? Purdey was no different than any other agent."

"Is," Gambit corrected, "and I thought you chose Purdey _because_ she wasn't like all the others." He rounded on McKay. "Can't we send our own detail? Or just me?"

McKay sighed in resignation. "It is his operation," he admitted grudgingly. "We're entitled to a representative, but with such a small role, anyone else has to go through Grey."

"If we have one spot, why not give it to Gambit?" Steed wanted to know. "He's more than qualified."

"Because I'm afraid that Mr. Gambit is too involved to be of any assistance," Grey explained, removing his glasses. "Furthermore, I believe he would be a risk to the team and to my people in the jungle. I've read your file, Mr. Gambit. You have a history of putting friendship above security, particularly where Purdey is concerned. Surely you can't deny that?" He watched Gambit's jaw work with mild amusement. "No witty retort? You disappoint me, Major. That was your rank, wasn't it? Right after your unceremonious withdrawal from Africa?"

Gambit felt his heart stop. Not many people had delved that deeply into his past, and it smarted whenever someone brought it up. The fact that Grey had somehow managed to read that far back worried him. If Grey knew about Africa, what else had he managed to dig up? And how would he use it?

"Well then, I think that's settled," Grey went on briskly. "We haven't been contacted regarding Purdey, but I assure you my team will do everything humanly possible to find her. We'll keep our channels open, and the reports are still coming in. I'm sure we'll hear something soon. In the meantime, we believe we've found a river route that hasn't been compromised. If you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." He nodded to the trio before quitting the room. Gambit watched him go helplessly. He met Steed's eyes, willing the senior agent to find a way to circumvent the red tape, but Steed looked momentarily defeated as well.

"We're just going to wait, then?" Mike snapped angrily. "Purdey's having who knows what done to her, and we can't do a damn thing to help her?"

"It looks that way," McKay said tiredly, "but Grey's people are good. It's entirely possible that they'll find her."

"So we do nothing?" Gambit said in obvious frustration.

"For the moment," Steed broke in suddenly. "Right now it's our best option. That doesn't mean that it's our only one. We'll let the search go on, and if we're not satisfied, we'll go from there."

"That'll take time," Gambit pointed out, running a hand through his hair. "She might not have much."

"If you fly out, right now, will it buy her any more?" Steed said seriously. "They'll be mobilized in an hour or two, but the flight's the same no matter who ends up going. But if you go they're going to shut you out of the effort, and I'd just as soon have an ally here when the reports start flooding in."

Gambit swore under his breath. "Fine," he muttered, "I'll wait. But if Grey doesn't keep his half of the deal, and she's not found, then I'm going over with or without anyone's permission. No one deserves to be forgotten like that."

"We won't forget her," Steed said firmly. "It is Purdey."

Gambit couldn't argue with that.

* * *

Hours passed. Gambit spent his time by the radios, and generally made a nuisance of himself to anyone with the slightest connection to Grey's operation for the latest news, reports, anything. Forty-eight hours after he'd first received the call, Steed found his colleague sprawled untidily in one of the armchairs that equipped Steed's rarely used office, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. After determining that his hours of slumber for the past two days could be counted on one hand, Steed put his foot down and steered Mike downstairs to the car park, into the Range Rover, and started the long drive out to the country.

Gambit awoke much later and blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling in bemusement. A quick scan revealed one of Steed's many elegantly appointed guest rooms, the bed of which Mike realized he had deposited a sizeable puddle of drool. He sat up ruefully, squinting at the sliver of sunlight through the curtains, mind trying desperately to work out what time it was and what time it had been when he'd dropped off. He couldn't recall how he'd come to be at Steed's, or why his fingers were stained black. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, groaned, and ran inky fingers through his hair. He couldn't remember much of anything at the moment. Presumably Steed would know. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and felt fuzziness. His chin was next, and he was surprised to find a sizeable crop of stubble. Had he been drinking? But it didn't feel like a hangover. He stood and wandered over to draw the curtains, peering out at Steed's manicured lawns. In the back of his mind, something told him that there was an urgent matter requiring his attention, but he couldn't remember what it was. _Don't force it. It'll come on its own._

Steed had thoughtfully appointed his bathroom with both razor and toothbrush, and after a shower Mike made use of both. He was contemplating putting the same clothes back on, when he caught sight of the suitcase by the door. Frowning, Mike went to retrieve it, opened it over the bed. Inside was an assortment of shirts and trousers, a couple of pairs of boots, and a few other necessities. Gambit dressed in silence, certain that the growing sense of dread had nothing to do with the idea of Steed rifling through his underwear drawer. He glanced at the door and debated whether he wanted to know what was troubling him, but decided not knowing was worst of all. With a sigh, he reached out and turned the knob.

Steed was at the dining room table, various files spread out before him, and the phone at his elbow. He looked up as Gambit entered, bestowed a smile in greeting. The way his eyes didn't smile with his mouth set Mike on edge immediately.

"Up are you?" Steed asked cheerily, and Gambit nodded slightly in confirmation. "Good. Can I get you something? It's been rather a long time since your last meal."

"Has it?" Gambit queried. "How long have I been asleep?"

Steed checked his watch. "Going on 18 hours, now," he informed. "You needed every second of it."

"I did?" Gambit frowned. "What time is it?"

"It's three in the afternoon."

"Three," Gambit repeated, as though in a daze. "Why? Did something happen last…last night, was it?"

"_A_ night," Steed clarified, "but not last night." He eyed Mike with concern. "Do you remember anything at all?"

Gambit shook his head fearfully. "No," he admitted. "But something...something bad happened, didn't it?"

Steed's eyes closed in a way that told Gambit he was less than thrilled with that answer. "But you don't know what?"

"No."

"Mike, I think you ought to sit down."

Gambit's guts twisted. "Why?"

"Just sit. Please."

"Not until you tell me what's happened!" Gambit snapped, frightened at how unsteady his voice was, then looked around vaguely. "Where's Purdey?"

Steed paled slightly. "That's not funny."

"What isn't?" Gambit was panicking. "Steed, I honestly can't remember. Where's Purdey?"

"Gambit—"

"Where?!"

"I don't know!"

Gambit froze. "Wha--?"

"I don't know," Steed repeated, this time with more control. "No one does. I thought you'd remember."

Gambit wasn't listening, eyes filled with frightened recognition. "Oh, hell. Brazil. She's in Brazil. How could I forget that?"

"You've been under a lot of stress."

"But I should remember that." He scrabbled for a chair. "Something like it happened to me."

"Gives you every reason to block it out," Steed observed. "Gambit, you spent two days doing nothing but read reports, newspapers, fresh Morse, files. The mind can only take so much."

"Explains the ink," Gambit murmured, glancing at his trembling hands. "I need to get back."

"You need to rest. I brought you here because your flat's too close to the Ministry. You won't stay home and sleep when you've only a five minute drive to deter you."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here. Catch up on your sleep. And if you promise to take evenings off, I'll consider resigning as your chaperone. Now." He rose and made for the kitchen. "Do you feel like breakfast or lunch?"

* * *

Days passed. Gambit spent his time meandering aimlessly around the farm, anxiously awaiting Steed's regular status reports over the phone. The senior agent was quite strict about keeping him away from the Ministry until he was certain his young colleague could exercise a little self-restraint. Gambit grumbled about it, but Steed took the broody looks as a sign that the younger man was trading despair for anger, which was at least more productive. Nonetheless, Steed was careful to keep the various sets of car keys out of reach. Technically, that wouldn't stop a determined Gambit, but Steed doubted Mike would resort to hotwiring anytime soon.

It looked as though he'd made a break for it after the first day, when Steed had returned to an empty house. A quick explore of the grounds out back revealed his colleague out on the chestnut mare that had been Steed's recent acquisition. It was quite a good arrangement. The horse got its exercise, and Gambit had a release for an hour or two.

Eventually, though, even equestrian pursuits weren't enough, and with Steed rapidly running out of hiding places for four separate sets of keys, he agreed to let Gambit, Michael A. have his pass back and return to work, albeit with a small surveillance assignment, just to eat into his spare time. Gambit was good at surveillance, and the thinking he did usually brought with it one or two valuable insights. Steed knew he could use a few just now. With Purdey's disappearance stretching into a week, he was catching a bad case of Gambit's impatience, but his own stable of agents was getting too restless for him to think of taking off anytime soon. While most of them were worried after their colleagues, a few were on the cutthroat side, and clamoring for what they now saw as vacant spots on Steed's select team. It was no secret that Purdey and Gambit were envied their positions as Steed's right-hand man and woman, and even less so that some would be more than happy to see the day when they fell from grace. With Purdey AWOL, and Gambit rapidly viewed as a basketcase in the making, two twitches away from permanent stress leave, it seemed that day had come, and it took every bit of bureaucratic wrangling Steed could muster to keep his colleagues' highly-valued spaces free from the threat of reassignment as the boys in personnel peered sternly over glasses and asked why they were paying for two people who weren't doing their jobs.

Gambit, meanwhile, was getting quite adept at ignoring the glances he was getting in the Ministry corridors. People were starting to notice the weight loss, and the sleep debt was accompanied by the sort of inflation that had brought down whole economies. And still, he made the trek to Grey's office, hoping against all odds that there would be good news today, that he wouldn't see the raven-haired radio operator shake her head at him again with that sad look in her eyes. But no news was good news. There hadn't been any report of a body yet, either. He held onto that on long nights.

There was something new today, though. As he strode down the hall, he caught sight of a girl exiting Grey's HQ. It took his fevered brain a moment to recognize her, but when he did he picked up the pace considerably, determined to catch her before she slipped off, out of his grasp. Already she was heading off in the opposite direction, and Gambit broke into a light jog, calling out even as he went.

"You're Samantha Grieve, aren't you?"

The girl stopped in her tracks, turning toward the voice. "Yes." The brown eyes registered mild surprise as he joined her. "And you are…?"

"Gambit. Mike Gambit." He offered a hand, and the girl shook it with mild bemusement.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Gamb—oh!" she exclaimed, then frowned. "Oh. You're _that_ Mr. Gambit, aren't you? Purdey's partner." She eyed him with dawning recognition.

"Yes," Gambit confirmed. "Purdey's partner."

Sam thrust her hands into her pockets abruptly, pulling away like she'd been burnt. "Before you start in, you should know I really am sorry about what happened," she told the floor, brown hair falling in her eyes. "I saw them take her away, and I meant to go after her, but there were so many people who needed help…" The hazel eyes were moist when she finally raised them to meet his. "By the time I found a spare moment, she was long gone. And I feel responsible. I should have been watching out for her."

Gambit heard his own words being parroted back at him, and felt a rush of guilt greater than Sam's. "It's not your fault," he told the girl. "I don't blame you for it. You didn't know about the attack, and Purdey knows how to take care of herself." _Usually_.

"I suppose, but that it should happen on my watch." She sighed and looked at the ceiling, as though tipping tears back into her eyes. "I had a partner of my own, once upon a time. He had a run of bad luck like Purdey's, and I couldn't do anything for him, either." The way she swallowed made Gambit think that her partner's fate wasn't nearly the mystery Purdey's was. She took a deep breath and looked back at him again. "And they still haven't found her, have they?"

Gambit tried to quell the sadness that threatened to wash over him every day, every minute, every second. "No," he said softly, "they haven't."

"I wish I could help."

"You could answer a few questions," Gambit prodded. "Nothing official. Just a few things I'd like to know."

Sam nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "All right. Grey won't like it much, but after last week I'm having trouble caring."

_I like her already. _"We could go for a drink, if you think it'd be safer," he suggested.

"Oh, hell, yes. I could use one." The admission was one of relief, and she fell into step beside him easily. She was quite attractive, he realized as they walked, but for once he felt none of the stirrings that usually accompanied the lovelier examples of the opposite sex. There was only room for one woman in his mind these days, and until she was back home, safe and sound, even the shapely Miss Grieve wasn't going to do anything for him.

They made small talk until they were well and truly free of the confines of the Ministry, away from probing eyes and ears. Gambit knew that Samantha Grieve had likely been instructed to keep her mouth shut. For whatever reason, she'd decided to disobey, and he was going to make certain she didn't pay for it. He found them a pub that wasn't frequented by even the lowliest file clerk, and waited until they were ensconced in a booth before starting in on his questions.

"What do you want to know?" Sam asked after a healthy gulp of the pint that she'd ordered without so much as a wince. Gambit raised an eyebrow. _She'd be an even match for Purdey in a drinking contest. Wonder which one would end up under the table first…_

"First hand account," he said out loud. "What happened that night?"

"Don't you know?"

"I know what Grey told me, and what came through the official reports. But something, somewhere, doesn't fit, and I'm hoping you can tell me what."

Sam gazed into her beer. "Fair enough. I was up late, going over the documents Purdey delivered. When I went to turn in, I took a detour to say good night to Jack. He was on first watch, you see."

"Do your people see much during the night watch?" Gambit wanted to know.

Sam shook her head. "No, never. We've never been attacked like this before, night or day. Pym pretty much ignores us. I don't think he cares one way or another. Not that there's any reason why he should. We've turned up next to nothing, other than the location of his base, but we've only managed a few blurry shots of a man that might, possibly, be him. I think we're almost a running joke in his eyes." She paused. "Which makes it all the stranger that he decided to get violent…"

"You were there when it started, then?" Gambit hypothesized.

"Yes. Like I said, I went to check on Jack. He was sitting near the edge of the camp. He had his head down, like he was sleeping." She broke off, eyes darkening. "But then I got closer. No one's neck bends like that."

Gambit worked his jaw. "Then what happened?"

"I drew my gun, naturally," Sam replied, "because the next thing I saw was something in the bushes. And I shot it—him."

"And then?"

"All hell broke loose. They sprang out en masse. I recognized them as Pym's men. By then everyone was awake, and the firefight started."

Gambit swallowed. "And Purdey?"

"She was in one of the tents," Sam said quietly. "I ended taking cover behind one of our vehicles, and I saw her take out a few of Pym's men. She had some creative ways of doing it, too."

Gambit allowed himself a small smile at that. "You should see what she can do when she's awake."

"I think she was coming over to join me," Sam went on. "I mean, she was coming my way. I looked away for a moment, and when I looked back…." She bit her lip, brushed her hair out of her eyes angrily. "There were three of them. A leader and two lackeys. One of them had a gun. She didn't have a chance."

Gambit was clutching the edge of the table, white-knuckled. "Three?" he repeated in horror, calling to mind every fight Purdey had one against multiple opponents, how many times she'd emerged triumphant. And how many she'd lost. The odds were she hadn't managed the former this time around.

Sam nodded. "I'm so sorry. I tried to go after them, but I ended up pinned down behind the vehicle. By the time the air cleared, she was long gone. I did send a team after her."

"But no luck," Gambit finished.

Sam shook her head. "Actually, yes. My people ended up making contact and exchanged shots with two of the men that took her away. And I'm pleased to say they got the worst of it."

Gambit felt something like hope for the first time in ten days. "You got them? The men that took her?"

"Two of them," Sam confirmed. "Only problem is, we got them a little too well. No one to question. But there was no sign of Purdey or the third man."

"Better odds, at least," Gambit said, half to himself.

"Maybe," Sam said carefully. "I don't want to be the bearer of more bad news, but we're fairly certain there was a vehicle there to meet them. So we don't know who might have gotten away. Purdey easily could have gone with them."

The sick feeling that had taken up permanent residence in Gambit's stomach returned. "Thank you," he murmured. "For being honest. Grey didn't fill me in on a lot of that."

Sam snorted. "I'm not surprised. He plays his operations pretty damn close to the chest, and our department lets him because he gets results. And we _need_ results. MI12's seen better days."

"So I've heard," Gambit informed, without much enthusiasm. "They want to amalgamate you into MI6, don't they?"

"Right," Sam confirmed. "They think our area's become a place for hand-me-downs from other departments, and we'd be better off helping the other boys get the job done. Of course Grey's against it, because he'd lose his rank to all those James Bond types. He needs this one."

Gambit looked thoughtful. "What about you?"

Sam sipped her drink. "What about me?"

"Are you afraid of MI6?"

Sam shook her head. "I'd welcome it. We're wasting resources. I know it. This Pym operation, for instance. Hasn't gotten us a thing. That attack was the first bit of real action we've had in six months."

Gambit felt the pieces falling into place. The puzzle was blurry at the moment, but held promise. "What will that mean for Grey? The attack?"

"It should be fairly obvious. Now that Pym's shown himself to be hostile, the mission will get an extension. We were getting close to our shutdown date, but now all his predictions about Pym are coming true, he'll be the darlings of our top brass."

"That's convenient," Gambit muttered. "What do you think, Sam? Why did Pym wait until now to attack? Has there been anything new? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Sam shook her head. "No. That's what's so odd. It seems so pointless. And the way they started. They killed Jack quietly. If I hadn't gone by, we probably wouldn't have known they were there until they fired the first shot."

"Maybe they weren't planning a full-scale attack," Gambit said slowly. "Maybe they were planning to infiltrate, and brought back-up just in case."

"Infiltrate? Why?" Sam shook her head. "We didn't have anything worth stealing—nothing worth the risk, in any case."

"What about the files Purdey delivered? I know you can't tell me what they were about, but could that have been what they wanted? It would explain why they took Purdey. She made the delivery. If they thought she knew what was in the case…"

Sam frowned. "I suppose that would make sense. But there wasn't anything too special about the case. I mean, new code words and contact times, new frequencies for the radio, intel, that sort of thing, but Pym's ignored us for this long without it. I don't see why he'd stoop to stealing it now. Besides, as soon as he took it, we'd have gone into emergency mode and changed all the codes."

"Still, it's something," Gambit pushed. "If we can find out why they took her, maybe we'll be able to get her back."

"Maybe."

Gambit eyed her in puzzlement. "Why _are_ you telling me all this, Sam? You know you're risking your job."

"Because Grey's a bastard and I think he's gone over the line this time."

"I'm not arguing with you, but what's he done?"

"Look, remember what I told you. Grey's got no scruples at all. He uses his agents, in every sense of the word. Past indiscretions, anything to make you do the job, even if he's got no right to ask."

"Why don't you report him?"

"Like I said, he gets results. The powers that be don't want to admit he's bad. Otherwise MI12's down the tubes. Besides, he's got me on his list of manipulated."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "What does he have on you?"

"Remember my partner? His name was Simon. He was my partner, and we got…friendly. I told you he died on my watch. Well, Grey got ahold of our relationship and dragged me in, said I'd compromised Simon, distracted him, and that was why he was dead. And he told me he get me thrown out for it, blacklisted in all the departments. And I believe him."

"Then why tell me?"

"Because he's gone too far, pulling Purdey in, someone outside of his department. And I'll bet he's been using his tricks on you, too. Someone's got to do something stop him, and you've got a better chance than I ever will. Hopefully you'll make some headway before it's too late for you and Purdey, like it was for me and Simon. He doesn't like agents that are close like you two, and he'll do anything to keep you under his thumb. So I'm warning you—don't let him get you, or Steed, or anyone. And don't give up on Purdey." She finished her beer, held out a hand. "Good luck, Mr. Gambit. I hope Purdey hasn't gone on and met Simon."

"So do I," Gambit agreed. "Thanks, Sam."

"My pleasure."

* * *

Steed was in the corridors when Gambit returned to the Ministry, and he quickened his pace to catch up with his colleague. Steed was absorbed in the details of a file, to the point that Mike's presence went unnoticed until the younger man spoke his name.

"Gambit. I was just about to go hunting for you."

"Just as well," Gambit told him. "I've got news."

"So have I," Steed revealed, handing over the pages. "And at the risk of undermining yours, I think you ought to take a look at this first."

Gambit accepted the pages and scanned them hurriedly, disbelief creeping over his face with each line. He looked up at Steed with a puzzled line between his eyebrows. "They got into Pym's base?"

"Walked in, would be more accurate," Steed corrected. "Just a matter of picking the locks. They've been treading softly all this time, trying to avoid another massacre, but it appears Pym and his men vacated the premises long ago."

Gambit shook his head, still puzzled. "Why?"

"We don't know yet. Our man only sent the message half an hour ago. They're treading carefully, but they're hoping they can find Purdey, or at least some sign of her. If Pym did take her, it follows she'd end up at the base."

"Right," Gambit agreed, eyes drifting over the page again. "Funnily enough, I'm not sure whether I want them to find her there or not."

"We can't influence the outcome either way," Steed pointed out. "But it's something. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

Gambit frowned, and then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. I was just talking to Samantha Grieve."

Steed arched an eyebrow. "Grey's head agent? I'm surprised she gave you the time of day."

"She gave me more than that. She's none too pleased with Grey. Apparently he makes a habit of blackmailing the people in his own department. Greases the wheels of his operations. And the people at MI12 are happy to let him do it if it means adding another achievement to their roster."

Steed smiled ruefully. "That Grey's ethics are less than admirable is fairly obvious, but what does it have to do with Purdey?"

"I don't know," Gambit admitted. "Not yet, anyway. But there's something else going on here. I know it. And I don't think Purdey was targeted for her courier job—it just doesn't fit. Grieve says there was nothing special in that delivery, and that Pym knew it. Not only that, but Grey's under pressure to deliver. You've heard about the MI12 amalgamation with MI6?"

Steed nodded. "The bureaucrats have been buzzing about it for months."

"Grey stands to lose if it goes through, but this attack by Pym has given new life to both his mission and his department. I don't think Purdey's involvement was just a coincidence."

"Can you prove it?" Steed wanted to know.

"Not yet," Gambit admitted. "But I've got something more important to back it up."

Steed arched a curious eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Instinct," Gambit revealed, with a light in his eyes. "And you have to agree, it was right when Purdey left."

Steed smiled back. "Point taken. Let's hope you're on a winning streak."


	12. The Find

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Happy New Year! And to celebrate, a fresh chapter now that all the parties are over and work beckons. Steed and Gambit have a lot on their plate as well. Stay tuned for the next chapter, which will feature a major player in the rest of the story, one who also happens to be a familiar face from the past.

* * *

The call came a few minutes past three. Gambit was only half-asleep, jerked awake by nightmares every half hour or so. Nightmares that shouldn't have come this far from a certain significant day in November. Not that he didn't have a pretty damn good idea of what was causing them. Only these were different. Because here it was Purdey who was crumpled on the floor, blue eyes bright against the dirt and old blood streaking her face. And he was watching, standing by while it happened, unable to move as unseen foes held him back with steely grips.

Then Purdey was dragged upright, and Grey stepped forward, put a gun to her head, against the shorn blonde locks, and pulled the trigger.

That was when Gambit usually woke up.

He'd been halfway calm when the phone shrilled through the silent flat. Gambit crawled out of bed after a moment, made his way over to pick up the receiver. "Gambit." His voice was hoarse, his throat parched.

"Mike?" It took a few moments for him to recognize Steed's voice. It sounded too careworn, too deflated. Gambit felt his heart sink. Bad news was on the horizon.

"Steed? Is there news? Have you heard something?" Mike asked anxiously. Steed had sent him home to get some sleep, but had promised to alert him to any new developments.

"Someone's flown in from the search team," Steed told him evasively. "If you're up to it, you might want to drive in and hear what he has to say."

"Can't you be a bit more specific?" Gambit wanted to know, but Steed refused to divulge. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he said finally.

"We're in McKay's office," Steed informed. "I'll see you there."

Gambit dressed as quickly as he could. Steed had sent him home only a few hours earlier, ordering him to get some sleep. Even with Kendrick's sedatives, it was a tall order. He'd managed a few minutes here and there, perhaps an hour and a half in total, but restless sleep at best, thanks to the nightmares. He needed good news badly.

He doubted he'd get it.

He drove the Jag fast, but not as fast as he could. Part of him was anxious to hear the news, but another part was afraid. If there was good news, Steed would have told him over the phone. A delay could only mean bad tidings. The only question was: how bad?

Fifteen minutes later he was standing in front of McKay's door, working up the courage to knock. When he finally did, the man himself called for him to enter. Gambit took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped inside.

Steed, McKay, and a third man Gambit didn't recognize were all seated around McKay's desk, waiting. For him. Their eyes bore into Gambit, heavy with whatever they had to impart. Gambit didn't like the way they were looking at him. It took a strong dose of courage to close the door behind him instead of running. He managed to approach the trio, seated himself in the vacant chair beside Steed.

McKay spoke first. "Gambit, this is Manders. Ashley Manders. He's our Ministry man in Grey's clean-up operation."

Manders was dark and serious, with glasses that hid extremely observant eyes. Gambit reached over the desk and shook his hand. "Yes, of course. Hello."

Manders nodded in reply, looked to McKay, who continued. "Manders returned because things are more or less wrapped up in Brazil. Everything's been sorted between our two departments and the local authorities."

"Finished?" Gambit repeated, straightening in surprise. "It's only been ten days since they went over. Has the base been cleaned out? Any sign of Purdey?"

McKay nodded to Manders. The man looked uncomfortable as he met Gambit's gaze. Gambit felt his guts twist. _Here it comes_…

"To answer your first question, Mr. Gambit: yes, the base has been thoroughly swept, all documents, substances, and other paraphernalia accounted for. Everyone found onsite was taken into custody. Unfortunately, there is no indication that Purdey was ever at the base. No record of her incarceration, and initial interrogations have revealed that no one on the premises saw her in the facility."

Gambit felt his heart sink. Purdey was still missing, and they were rapidly running out of places to find her. "That leaves the jungle," he said roughly, looking to Steed, who was impassively grim.

"I'm afraid so. But sweeps of the area surrounding the confrontation haven't been too successful. Samantha Grieve informs me that she last saw Purdey moving out of the clearing and into the jungle proper. We suspect she was taken to a second location, and that her party was met by a vehicle. There's no question she was taken by Pym's followers. They're dead, unfortunately, so we've no one to question on the particulars." He took a deep breath and plowed on, despite the fact that all the colour was draining from Gambit's face. "We did, however, recover this in the vicinity of her last known location." Manders slid a small envelope across the table toward Gambit. Mike eyed it warily. There was nothing good to be found inside. It sat innocently on the desk top, inviting him to explore its contents. Gambit could feel the gazes of the other three men on him as he eyed it. Nothing for it. He'd have to look inside and face up to whatever the contents implied. Slowly, tentatively, he picked it up and tipped it over, allowing its contents to spill onto the desk.

A fine gold chain slid out, arranging itself in a neat pile. Gambit sucked air in sharply. He recognized it immediately, knew which neck it was meant to adorn. It didn't take long for him to pick out the other details. The broken links, cut through, probably with a knife. He prodded the pile almost instinctively, the analytical part of his brain taking over. His fingers worked of their own accord, playing the chain out over the glossy surface of McKay's desk.

That was when he saw the blood staining the links, dried onto the metal along with the dirt from the jungle floor.

_No._

Gambit felt his head spinning. It couldn't be. His brain struggled to make sense of it. _Purdey. Blood. No sign. The jungle. Handful of men. Chain. Around her neck. Her throat. Oh, hell, had they cut her throat?_

"It is Purdey's?" He heard Mander's voice through a haze, felt Steed's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," he croaked hoarsely, never taking his eyes off the thin piece of metal, the crimson highlights. "She wouldn't part with it easily. Her father gave it to her." He fingered it gently. "How much of the jungle have you searched?"

"More than we should have to, if she's to be found," Manders said quietly.

Gambit suddenly felt sick, suffocated, as though the walls were closing in. He stood without warning, knocking over his chair in the process, staggered back from the table. He needed out. Away from the eyes. Away from that chain and all it implied.

"'Scuse me," he managed, before bolting out the door.

Gambit felt his way blindly down the corridor, hands pressed against the wall, guiding him as he stumbled past what his eyes couldn't see for the images crashing through his mind. Purdey, all alone, throat slashed, abandoned in the Brazilian jungle, murdered and left for the local wildlife. He retched and barely avoided being sick right in the Ministry corridor, somehow managed to find the door to the men's, throw it open, and stagger inside. There was one other occupant, Terence, an agent Gambit knew vaguely, but hadn't worked any assignments with. His head whipped round at Gambit's violent entrance, jaw dropping.

"Bloody hell, Gambit. You okay?"

Gambit didn't answer, just thrust past the surprised man, lunging for one of the stalls. He dropped to his knees onto the cold tile just in time for the vomit to make the porcelain bowl instead of decorating the walls of the cubicle. It only took a couple of heaves to empty his stomach. He hadn't had much in the way of dinner the night before. His appetite had seen better days than when this whole mess began. He knelt there for a moment, hollow inside, feeling weak and helpless, too drained, too sick, to help Purdey, himself, anyone.

He vaguely remembered washing up in the sink while making unconvincing attempts at allaying Terence's fears, the agent repeatedly offering to fetch Dr. Kendrick. Presumably he'd succeeded in shaking the other agent off, although he couldn't recall how he'd done it, what he'd said. Then again, he couldn't remember leaving the Ministry, nor climbing into his car, making a trip, fumbling for keys at his destination. All he knew was he was suddenly sitting on Purdey's couch, staring at the same walls Purdey had told him only last month she was planning on repainting as part of her renovation. "Time for a change, don't you think?" had been her words. He'd made some smart remark about how he'd be happy to see her change, and while her reply wouldn't come to mind, it was a safe bet it had involved her pulling a face while uttering her famous "Mike Gambit…" Now she was gone, and he had no way of knowing how her changes would have looked, had she been given time to realise them.

There was a gentle tap on the door that Gambit suddenly recalled he'd left ajar. He turned in time to see Steed prod it open the rest of the way with his brolly. The senior agent looked grave, but Gambit knew John Steed well enough to know that most of what he was feeling was under tight control, and wouldn't bubble to the surface unless given express permission. "I thought I'd find you here," he murmured. "Although Purdey'd resent the assumption."

Gambit felt his mouth quirk up on one side almost automatically. "She'd be grateful I used a key for once, at least," he replied, then felt his face fall. "If she was here." Mike turned away. "Sorry for ducking out on you like that."

Steed made his way over to the couch, took a seat next to Gambit, setting bowler and brolly on top of Purdey's seemingly inexhaustible supply of fashion magazines, scattered over the coffee table. "If it's any consolation, I might have had a similar reaction if I hadn't had other things to attend to." His eyes ventured around the flat. "And you're not the only reason I stopped by, either."

"Know what you mean," Gambit said quietly. "I can feel her here, all over. And I half believe if I sit here long enough, she'll walk through that door and tell me to stop sulking, and that I'd feel better if I'd only take her out for lunch."

Steed smiled slightly. "Great minds…"

"That's another one of hers, least as far as I'm concerned," Gambit pointed out, scrubbing his face with anxious hands. "What are we going to do, John?"

"What we always do," Steed said firmly, well-aware that the moment Mike lapsed into using his Christian name, they were just friends now. Friends worrying over another friend, an absent entity, "when Purdey, or you, or I, go missing. Keep looking. Follow every lead to the end. Check and recheck."

"But we're not in the right hemisphere to follow half of them," Gambit pointed out. "And this isn't someone holding her for a few hours somewhere in England, although that's bad enough. It's been _two weeks_, John. And there've been search parties out who haven't found anything but her chain." He swallowed another round of nausea. "What if there's nothing left to find?"

"There is. Purdey's resourceful. I'm not saying she hasn't been hurt—I think that's expecting too much. But that chain doesn't prove anything other than that Purdey was there at some point. And she's been missing for days at a time before, remember. Just recently, in fact. Or have you forgotten the hostage incident last month?"

Gambit winced. "I'm still nursing the bruises," he said ruefully.

"But Purdey made it out all right, didn't she? Time doesn't necessarily equate with damage."

"I suppose," Gambit allowed. "But you mentioned last month. That's the other thing that's been bothering me."

Steed's ears perked up. "Yes?"

Gambit sighed. "Remember, I told you I called Purdey's mother to confirm your story? And I more or less hung up on her when she told me Purdey wasn't there. Because I realized—" He swallowed. "I realized, right then, that I didn't know--that I'd never know--how to tell her her daughter was gone, and explain how I'd let it happen, without the foggiest idea where she'd gone." He met Steed's gaze with his own, sea-green eyes intense. "What the hell am I supposed to tell her now? Purdey's disappeared the same place her father died." Something twigged in his brain, but Gambit was too distracted to stay with it. "She told me, once, about these men that came to tell her mother about what happened to her father. I don't know that I can be the one to sit there and give a repeat performance."

"No need to tell her anything yet," Steed tried to comfort. "There's still not much _to_ tell—no real answers."

"But we'll have to tell her something, eventually. You know Purdey calls her regularly. We've got a little time since she just came back from her visit. But if it gets too long, he mother's going to worry." Gambit got up and paced rapidly. "I should've followed her, Grey be damned. I wouldn't have needed to be in on the assignment. Just there." He stopped in front of the mirror, braced himself against the barre, head down. "I promised myself I wouldn't let something like this happen to her. I failed her."

Steed rose. "No," he contradicted. "You didn't. She agreed to go. You didn't force her. Grey assigned it, not you. And McKay approved it—under duress, I'll admit, but he did. If Purdey's situation is on anyone's heads, it's there's, not yours. And you know as well as I that Purdey wouldn't have let you come along to baby-sit when she felt perfectly capable of completing the assignment herself. The only way you could have failed her was as a friend, and I can assure you that you played that role with aplomb."

Gambit shook his head, lifted his eyes. "Don't you ever felt guilty when something like this happens?" He asked Steed's reflection.

"Only when the guilt is justified," Steed allowed. "When I'm consciously pushing someone into the line of fire. You won't survive this job if you feel responsible for every person that falls dead at you feet. But if you're asking if I've ever felt the same way, I'm afraid the answer is yes."

Steed shifted in his seat so he could look out Purdey's window, at the early morning light was filtering into the flat.

"On our last assignment together, Mrs. Gale nearly burned to death in a boat fire. I was left to identify a body in the morgue. Luckily it wasn't hers, but I remember standing in the morgue. I remember the moment I realized the pen I'd loaned Mrs. Peel was a homing beacon for a Cybernaut. And the day Tara took me at my word and trusted a man named Jason. She ended up unconscious in a garden shed about to be set ablaze. If any of those situations had turned out differently, and they very easily could have, I'd have been feeling the way you do now, although much, much worse. But I was responsible for involving each of them, in one way or another. _You_ didn't bring Purdey into this job, and you certainly didn't have a hand in what happened in Brazil. I know you feel responsible for her, but you'll serve her better if you focus on finding her and refuse to give up. You're not planning on giving up, I hope?"

Gambit turned to face him. "You know I'm not." There was a ghost of a smile in the sea-green eyes. "She'd kill me if I did. Or give me a scolding to remember. Something starting with 'Mike Gambit,' I'd hazard, only it'd come out 'Moke Gumbet' because her mouth would be full of marshmallows." They shared a brief laugh, and Gambit shook his head fondly. "Hard to imagine life B.P."

Steed's eyebrows shot up. "B.P.?"

" 'Before Purdey,'" Gambit said with a smirk. "But how are we going to get anything done here with Grey looking over our shoulders?"

Steed smiled knowingly. "I wasn't planning on continuing our investigation in England."

Gambit shook his head. "You know as well as I do that Grey won't let anyone outside his department take part in the Brazilian arm of the operation."

"True," Steed agreed. "But I wasn't going to suggest applying for a slot in Grey's team. I thought we'd take a holiday instead. You've got some time accumulated, haven't you?"

Gambit could feel his first real smile in weeks tugging at his lips. Good old Steed. "Weeks," he confirmed.

"Excellent. So have I. Anyplace you'd suggest?"

"I hear South America is nice," Gambit mused innocently. "Could use a little sun."

"Splendid idea. I'm sure McKay won't begrudge us taking it concurrently."

Gambit snorted. "He'll jump at the chance to do anything that'll stick in Grey's craw."

"And while we're there, if we happen to run across Purdey…"

"We'll just have to book an extra seat on the plane," Gambit finished. "Do you think we can manage it?"

"I'll pull some strings. We'll leave in the next day or two," Steed promised.

"We'll need a guide over there," Gambit pointed out. "I haven't been to South America since my Navy days, and I wasn't exactly hitting the usual tourist sights, if you catch my meaning."

"I've an idea in that direction, too," Steed assured. "An old friend of mine, whom I'm sure will be delighted to help us in exchange for trip to sunnier climes." He retrieved his bowler and umbrella and made for the door. "I'll start making calls."

"Steed." Gambit's voice halted him halfway to the door. "Purdey's chain. Do you think I could hang onto it? I'd like to be the one to give it back to her."

Steed smiled knowingly. "Of course." He dug in his pocket, extracted the envelope, placed it in Gambit's outstretched hand when the younger man reached him. "I know you'll look after it."


	13. Old New Friend

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises, and this story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yet another new chapter, while I've still got the time. This one's extralong, in case things get hectic again. Like I said, there's a familiar face in this one who will be playing a significant role in the rest of the story. Hopefully I've done the character justice. More about that next time.

* * *

Gambit let himself into Steed's. The 'guide' was supposed to be here today, and Steed was going to introduce his colleague to this master of the Amazon. Gambit wasn't certain what to expect from this mysterious navigator, but as he approached the living room, he could just make out a pair of shapely, yet familiar, legs draped over the sofa, ankles crossed, and partially covered by a skirt made of obviously expensive material. There were only two pairs of legs Mike knew that well, and one set was currently missing in the Amazon. This pair was known to every young agent to crack a textbook in the past ten years of Ministry training programs. Could it be? He rounded the corner, and upon seeing the face that went with the legs, his suspicions were confirmed.

"Ah, Gambit, just in time," Steed greeted from the other end of the room, in the process of pouring the newcomer a brandy. "I'd like you to meet—"

"Emma," Gambit supplied knowingly, as the soft brown eyes lifted from the woman's drink to meet his own.

"Mike," she reciprocated warmly, swinging those ever-so-enviable legs over the edge of the couch and standing to meet him.

Steed frowned as Gambit closed the gap between himself and the auburn-haired lovely. "I wasn't aware that you'd met."

"Of course," Emma replied coyly, arching an eyebrow at Steed before turning back to Gambit. "How are you?" she asked as they exchanged pecks on the cheek.

"I've been better," Gambit replied wearily, pulling back again so he could see the high cheekbones that made his knees go weak. "Purdey…" he lamented, and Emma nodded in sympathy.

"I know. You look exhausted. But don't worry. We'll find her," she asserted in that lively, confident voice that made anything seem possible. "After all, Peter was missing for years, and he turned up alive."

"Excuse me," Steed interrupted, moving over to hand Gambit his drink, subtly sidling between the two of them in the process. Gambit grinned at the uncharacteristically jealous gesture. Now Steed knew how it felt for a change, to have the upper hand, and the benefit of Purdey's arms around his neck. "You act as though you've been friends for years."

"Years is pushing it a bit," Gambit told him. "A year is a little more accurate."

"Fourteen, fifteen months, if you're counting," Emma said with mock-seriousness, eyes heavenward as though in the process of calculating the term.

"But who's counting?" Gambit quipped. "After the first half dozen meetings, time isn't quite so important."

"You keep in touch?" Steed asked, brow furrowed in vague disbelief.

"Oh, we call on occasion. Sometimes there's a letter. Gambit's been extraordinarily helpful in some of the military contracts that Knight has been filling. He's offered some very useful insights from his careers in the actual forces. And I fill him in on business, and a few stories about my time in the trenches," Emma explained, eyes dancing.

"And the occasional tip about what to get for the spy who has everything," Gambit quipped.

Steed shot Gambit a look. "And you never thought to mention this?"

"Well, I am allowed a few secrets," Gambit murmured, a smile playing over his lips. "To go along with the Knight Industries stock."

"I see," Steed replied sourly, looking from one to the other. "Would I regret it if I asked how you met?"

Emma laughed. "Steed, I'm surprised. You know very well that I crashed your Christmas party the year before last."

"1975," Gambit chimed in cheerfully. "Right before we met Purdey." The smile fell, and the younger man cast his eyes down to his glass. Steed felt the pang of jealousy falter a little.

"I remember," Steed confirmed, although he'd tried to forget, quite frankly. He thought he'd succeeded, especially since the addition of Purdey had welded the three of them into an actual team. There was no denying that her presence and ease with the pair of them had smoothed the path toward Gambit and Steed becoming better partners, and beyond that, good friends. But in 1975 things were still strained, and the sight of Gambit escorting an auburn-haired lovely out the door had been enough to nurture a little resentment on Steed's part, no matter how unjustified or immature he was in his feelings. The fact that Emma hadn't been invited, and he, uncharacteristically, hadn't been able to work up the courage to speak to her after the passage of so many years. Emma had never returned, not surprising considering his non-existent reception. He knew Gambit had made his plane to Canada, but there was a two-hour absence to account for that had given Steed cause to wonder just what had transpired. He'd never had the courage to ask, wasn't even certain he wanted to know the answer. But it looked as though he would get one now.

"You left together, as I recall," Steed said finally, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Emma shrugged. "We hit it off," she said lightly. "And the party was getting a little too 'swinging' by that hour. Mike invited me out for a drink before he caught his plane, gave me a port in the storm until things calmed down."

Gambit felt his grin creep back ever so slightly. He remembered his first meeting with Emma Knight very well. There were pictures of all three of Steed's lovely partners in Ministry texts, and Gambit had spent more time than was strictly necessary studying the pages related to Emma Peel during his days as a trainee agent. Others in his class preferred Tara King, and were exceptionally delighted when that worthy made an impromptu appearance at one of his training classes. Some went for Catherine Gale, all cool confidence and leather boots. They were both attractive, he couldn't deny that. But in his mind, Emma Peel was a cut above. It was a schoolboy crush but it was brilliant one, and he'd had to fight to stop from drooling when he'd caught sight of her by the window, just about died when she'd dismissed the title of 'Mrs. Peel' and insisted he call her Emma, and spent the few moments while she retrieved her coat leaning against the wall for support, trying to make sense of the fact that she'd accepted his invitation for a drink. To this day he knew that Emma was using him just a tiny bit as a way to reconnect with Steed, or at the very least get his attention. But at the time he didn't care. He'd thought there wasn't another woman in the world that could make him feel that way.

Three days later, he met Purdey, and he'd known then what separated a crush from something deeper.

Steed raised an eyebrow. "A drink?" he repeated, hoping his relief wasn't too obvious. "I hope Gambit hasn't damaged to your palette."

Emma smiled her lopsided smile. "Nothing of the sort. He has far more taste than you give him credit for." She arched an eyebrow in Gambit's direction. "But we've got other things to worry about, don't we? When were you planning on leaving?"

Gambit snapped back to reality from his musings about a young woman with long blonde hair and fire in her eyes, and locked eyes with Steed. "What did McKay say about giving us leave?"

"He did his best, and got us both off for the day after tomorrow. I'd hoped for something sooner, but it can't be helped. At the very least, it'll give Mrs. Peel time to put her affairs in order."

"It shouldn't pose too much of a problem," Emma informed. "Not unless we take an extended vacation like Peter. I've contacted an old friend in Manaus. He'll have our gear ready when we arrive, and he'll contact the tribe that took care of Peter. They might have a better idea of where to start."

"They've already asked the locals," Gambit pointed out miserably. "Not much information there."

"Maybe they didn't think Grey's people were trustworthy," Emma replied knowingly. "I think you'd be surprised at what they'd divulge to a familiar face."

"It's worth a try, anyway," Steed insisted. "Come on. We can work the details out over lunch."

"You're right, as always," Gambit sighed, moving to follow the pair out the door. "And anyway, the lead time will give me a chance to do a little reading, research the background to this operation of Grey's. Something's still not right, doesn't sit the way it should, and it's not just because I'm angry that Grey got Purdey mixed up in all this."

"Instinct?" Steed queried.

"Definitely."

"Good," was all he got in reply.

***

Gambit sat in the file room, dossiers spread every which way over the table surface. He'd gathered anything and everything the Ministry had on Pym and his operations that he could find, and there was a lot of reading to be done. But Gambit was an old hand at sifting the important facts from digression. So he read. And read. He didn't know what he was looking for, only that he would recognize it when he found it.

Two hours later, he was starting to lose hope. Nothing stood out, nothing that didn't fit Grey's operation, in any case. Gambit picked up a list of agents known to have made contact with Pym and scanned it half-heartedly. Nothing.

No, wait.

Gambit sat up a little straighter, eyes giving the page another pass, this time thoroughly. He hadn't seen—

Yes, he had. There. Bryde. Jonathan Bryde. He rifled through the other files frantically. There, again. Bryde. And again. Gambit read the brief summaries with fresh eyes. The mentions were buried in footnotes. Bryde wasn't one of theirs. He didn't merit the long summaries devoted to the experiences of the Ministry men who had crossed paths with Pym. And Pym had such a long record that he'd tangled with dozens of British agents in just as many departments. Gambit had been focusing on the man's activities, skipping over the laundry list of names. He hadn't known what to look for. And to be fair, Bryde wasn't the man he expected, someone who hadn't had much to do with the Ministry in his years of espionage.

But someone else had.

He had his missing piece.

Gambit sat and read for a little while longer, the story slowly forming before his eyes. A story that he suspected Purdey didn't know half of. Not that it was particularly well spelt out here, but there was enough that by the time he reached the end his hands were clutching the paper til he was white-knuckled. Bryde's name was linked to several encounters, the last of which was in 1966. Gambit did the math in his head. 1976 less ten—not exactly rocket science. He scrabbled for the page listing the deaths attributed to Pym. If Purdey had known, he knew she wouldn't have agreed to go on the mission—at least not as Grey had assigned it. Gambit stood and quit the room, not bothering to clear up the scattered papers.

Gambit made his way quickly and efficiently down the halls, negotiating them with a sort of military precision. The blue eyes were cold. Those who knew him could see the signs and steered clear. Because Gambit was calm—too calm.

Julian Grey was in his team's war room, a lone figure among the dozen or so agents darting from task to task. They didn't look up until they heard the voice.

"Grey."

All eyes turned to Gambit, a lithe silhouette framed in the doorway. Grey took off his glasses and frowned. "Mr. Gambit. What can we do for you?"

"We need to talk," Gambit said simply, closing the gap between himself and the man.

Grey's frown deepened. "It's not convenient at the moment. We're rather busy, but perhaps you could come back later."

"I don't think so," Gambit growled. "Your office. Now."

"But—"

"Now." It was an order this time, with the force and precision of someone who had served in the military and knew exactly how to ensure obedience without raising his voice. Grey was in his office before he realised what he was doing. Gambit closed the door quietly behind them.

"Well, then, what's this all about?" Grey asked, annoyed at how easily Gambit had taken control.

Gambit didn't reply, just closed the distance between them, grabbed the man's jacket in both hands, and slammed his back against the wall.

"I'll tell you what it's about," he growled. "You set Purdey up, didn't you? You knew exactly whose daughter she was. You knew that Bryde and Pym were old enemies. You knew he killed Bryde. And you saw the perfect opportunity to draw him out. Bryde's daughter, another agent, conveniently shows up in Brazil on a courier assignment. Of course Pym'd come out for that, make a personal appearance. And then could catch him and earn a nice bunch of accolades from your people."

Grey swallowed in the face of the angry eyes. "It was necessary."

Gambit's eyes narrowed. "It was _necessary_ to send Purdey in under false pretences, to put her life on the line?"

"She's an agent. She does it all the time."

Gambit shook his head. "Not while she's being lied to, she doesn't. You used her as bait, Grey. You didn't even give her a fighting chance. You sent her in knowing full well she was a walking target, and you didn't tell her what she was up against. _You used her father against her_."

"If I told her, she never would've agreed. It was the only way."

Gambit shook his head. "No, there's always another way. Maybe longer or harder, but there always is. You should have told her. And if she said no, you should have accepted that. I don't know what your mob's like, but we don't use our people. Do you know why? Because then we're no better than the enemy."

"Look, Mr. Gambit, I'm sorry for the deception. We are doing our best to locate Purdey."

"That's not good enough." Gambit dug in his pocket, still holding Grey with one hand, and extracted Purdey's broken chain. He held it up for Grey to see. "Notice anything?"

"Blood," Grey gulped, "on the links. I sincerely hope it's not Purdey's."

"You and me both," Gambit said icily, and grabbed Grey with both hands again. "Because I'm going after her, and when I find her, and I will, you had better pray she's alive and well. Because if they've," he paused and swallowed, as though the words were painful, "captured her, interrogated her, used her, killed her, then it'll be on your head, and I'll personally ensure that she's avenged. Do you understand?"

"You'll get in trouble for this, Gambit. You can't violate Ministry protocal. Interfere with this assignment, and I'll see to it that things become very unpleasant for you in the future," Grey threatened. "And as for your attachment to your colleague, well, I'd suggest that you exercise a little professional distance. Either that or get what you want out of her so you can attend to the job at hand."

Gambit's hands, still clutching Grey's lapels, tightened just that much more, and Grey could feel his feet pull off the ground ever-so-slightly.

"That was the wrong thing to say," Mike informed him in a low voice. "Now who's being unprofessional?"

"I'm not the one about to cause an interdepartmental incident," Grey pointed out. "But I understand that you're upset. If you'll just calm down, I'll forget all about this little scuffle and you won't be subjected to any uncomfortable internal inquiries. I'm sure Purdey wouldn't want you to get into trouble on her behalf."

Gambit snorted and smirked, releasing Grey as he did so. "You don't know her at all, do you? The only reason she'd call me off was so she could take care of you herself. And I assure you I'm not planning on volunteering for your little team." He looked back at the chain in his hand. "Do you know where Purdey got this?" he added conversationally.

"No."

"Her father gave it to her, when she was sixteen. Do you know how old she is now? 28. 29 in May. And if she's not going to see her thirtieth birthday because of you, there'll be hell to pay." He returned the chain to its envelope, met Grey's eyes one last time. "You see, I'm not afraid of you, because there's nothing you can do to me that can top what you've already done." He smiled mirthlessly. "If I were you, I'd worry less about the investigations and more about giving me reasons to turn rogue."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out the door with the intention of being long gone before McKay even answered Grey's inevitable call.

***

Emma Knight was seated at her desk, finishing the last of the paperwork that needed doing before she departed for Brazil. She had had better times. It was a well-known fact that Emma craved excitement in her life, something that her association with Steed had made blatantly obvious. And by the mid-sixties, Knight Industries was running smoothly enough that it didn't need Emma looking out for its every decision. She'd held onto her shares, but relinquished control to competent experts, content to dabble in academia and other matters that caught her fancy, and instead pop into monthly shareholder meetings to ensure things were still shipshape.

But that was before 1973, the year Emma and Peter Peel had announced, to the surprise of many a reader of the society columns, that they had separated, and intended to divorce. Emma had known for some time that things were never destined to return to the way they were before the plane crash, before the Ministry. Before Steed. But they were both stubborn, and the idea of not being able to make a marriage work seemed unfathomable to two accomplished people. All the same, they spent the better part of five years leading mostly separate lives, travelling to different places, her attending conferences, he still active in the aviation community, generally avoiding one another like ships that passed in the night until one evening they found themselves having dinner together and faced up to the fact that they were wasting their lives for the sake of a piece of paper. Amicable as the separation was, it was still stressful, and for Emma the last thing she thought she needed was the news that Knight Industries' last project had fallen through, and the share price was buckling in response. On the contrary, it proved to be a lifesaver, something to throw herself into completely and devote her energies to while the drama of the divorce played itself out in the press. This was something she could fix, something she knew how to handle. Knight recovered in 1974, but by that point Emma was back in the saddle as the driving force behind the company, too enmeshed to step out again as quickly as she had stepped in. She'd stayed on with the intention of ensuring stability, but one thing had led to another and now, four years on, she was still here, in this office. No wonder she'd jumped when Brazil beckoned, regardless of the old memories it stirred up. Anything to taste that freedom that had eluded her for so long.

She was just about ready to pack it in for the moment, to go out for a bite and read the paper, when the intercom on her desk buzzed urgently. Emma sighed and reached out to flick the switch.

"Yes, Annie, what is it?" she asked tiredly, rubbing her temples with the other hand.

"I'm sorry Ms. Knight, but there's a man here to see you."

Emma paused mid-rub, line appearing between her eyebrows. "I don't have any appointments," she murmured, half to herself, trying to recall if she'd set a meeting that had inadvertently slipped her mind.

"No," the secretary confirmed. "He doesn't have an appointment. He says he's a friend of yours." She dropped her voice, as though she were trying to keep the visitor from eavesdropping. "He looks a bit worked up. Should I call security?"

Emma's frown deepened. "Did he give a name?"

"Well, yes," the girl revealed reluctantly. "Gambit. Mike Gambit."

Emma's eyebrows shot up. "Gambit?" she echoed. "That's all right, Annie. Let him in."

"You're sure? I know you're busy..."

"It's fine," Emma assured. "Tell him to come in. I'll get the door myself." She released the switch on the intercom, rose from the desk, and strode purposefully for the door. She yanked it open just as Gambit reached for the knob, smiled lopsidedly at the brief flicker of surprise that passed over his face. The amusement was fleeting—the eyes that met hers were all too bleak for her humour to last long.

"There's a different girl manning the desk," Gambit muttered dazedly, in a way that suggested he was processing information exceptionally slowly. He stepped distractedly around Emma and into the office. "What happened to Bridget?"

"She's on maternity leave," Emma explained quickly. "Mike, what happened? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"I hope not," Gambit shuddered, making for one of the plush armchairs Emma had arranged around a coffee table to create a sort of living area. "If I do, it'll be Purdey's."

"I know just what you need," Emma replied knowingly, stepping over to the small bar, and pouring Gambit a rather a large whiskey. She handed it to him, and he gulped back half before she even had a chance to seat herself with her own drink. It brought a little colour back to his cheeks, but the haunted look was still behind the blue-green eyes. He swirled the remainder of the liquid around his glass for a moment before looking up to meet her gaze.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm keeping you in suspense."

"Whenever you're ready," Emma told him, sipping her brandy.

Gambit smirked. "You're not that patient," he pointed out, and Emma smirked back in agreement, crossing her long legs in the process. Just for a moment, he was reminded of Purdey, seated across from him, drink in hand, mirroring the same gesture the day before she had disappeared into the abyss. Even Emma's legs, a vision he normally treasured, betrayed him with images of a willowy blonde stretching gracefully before a barre, trading quips with his reflection in the floor length mirror. The smile faded.

"I did some research," Gambit said finally, leaning forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. "Into Pym. I knew something was wrong with the whole damn mission from the start, and I was right." He paused to drink off a little more of the whiskey, but he was calmer this time around.

"And?" Emma queried.

"Grey set her up," Gambit told her flatly. "You know Purdey's father was an agent?"

Emma frowned in thought. "I think you may have mentioned it."

"He died in the line of duty," Gambit explained. "Shot eleven years ago. I'll give you three guesses where."

"Brazil?" Emma arched an eyebrow. "I assume that wasn't a coincidence."

"You'd be right," Gambit confirmed. "Purdey's father—Jonathan Bryde—he did a lot of work overseas. Not one of ours, light on local security. Over the years, he tangled with Pym quite a few times, gave him enough of a headache that when Bryde put a foot wrong, Pym was waiting for him." Gambit bit his lip, as though the next words caused him physical pain. "It wouldn't be selling Pym short to say he nursed a grudge."

"I think I can see where this is heading," Emma put in. "Grey heard about Purdey's family connection, and decided to use it."

"Abuse it, is more like," Gambit growled. "I knew something was wrong, and so did Purdey, the minute Grey had his secretary use her last name." He thumped his fist uselessly against his thigh. "Between that and her father—too much of a coincidence. I should have seen it."

"Presumably Purdey would have been better suited to making those sorts of connections?" Emma queried.

"She didn't know the whole story," Gambit murmured ruefully. "For security reasons, she doesn't know Pym was the man who killed her father. And Grey knew from her profile that she wouldn't back down from going to Brazil, especially not if he made her feel as though she was a lesser agent for letting her emotions get in the way." He worked his jaw rapidly. "He set her up pretty much every damn way he knew how, and the real blow is that it worked. Now Purdey's lost in the middle of nowhere, Pym's gone AWOL, and on top of it all I've probably got a lecture from McKay brewing for inciting an interdepartmental scuffle and threatening to go rogue."

Emma's eyebrow climbed to heretofore unknown heights. "Exchanged something more than words?"

"Nearly," Gambit sighed. "I made certain he had a very good idea of how hard the wall was. Evens he's rung McKay and anyone who'll listen, and Steed's somewhere either trying to explain it away to the top brass, or plotting my murder."

"Or both," Emma concurred, resting her glass on the table. "But probably more of the former, if I know Steed."

"I know," Gambit agreed. "But I couldn't face him just yet. And I needed someone to talk to. Sara's out of town, and Purdey's..." He shrugged. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything important."

Emma waved him off. "I was just about to leave for lunch."

"What an excellent idea." Gambit and Emma turned at the sound of Steed's voice to find the man himself standing in the doorway. "Gambit, I'm all for youthful enthusiasm, but I think a course in diplomacy might be in order."

Gambit was on his feet as soon as the senior agent took a step toward them, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy ready to take his lashings with a stiff upper lip. "I know I went over the line," he admitted. "But after what he did to Purdey..."

"I'm not annoyed with you, Gambit," Steed assured his young colleague. "If I'd known, I likely would have paid Grey a visit myself, although exercising a little restraint. Still, McKay's on damage control, and as long as you take some leave and give everyone a week or so to calm down, I think we'll be all right. Besides, Grey can't talk about what transpired without revealing his motives, which I'm certain are going to be looked on less-than-favourably once his superiors hear McKay's report."

Gambit looked hopeful at that. "Do you think he'll be disciplined?"

"It's possible, although not nearly as heavily as he ought to be," Steed opined. "He did, after all, get results, if not Pym himself. I doubt they'll meet out a heavy enough punishment to ruin his career."

"I could kill him," Gambit offered brightly, but with a look in his eyes that hinted that he wasn't completely joking. "He wouldn't do much of anything after that."

"I think you'd top their list of suspects, don't you?" Steed said blithely.

"Get Emma to do it, then," Gambit suggested. "It's practically Saint Emma of Peel, anyway. Mother'd put a good word in for her."

Emma laughed her enchanting laugh. "I didn't know I'd been canonized. Steed, you've been holding out on me."

"Steed wasn't indoctrinated in training with the laws of Peel and Steed," Gambit revealed. "You're in the textbook, you know."

"Fascinating."

"That reminds me," Gambit said thoughtfully, fingering Purdey's chain in his pocket. "Emma, I need you to do me a favour."

"Oh?"

"Well, not me," Gambit elaborated. "Purdey, really."

Emma exchanged bemused glances with Steed. "All right," she said carefully.

Gambit turned to the older man. "And there's something I'd like cleared up in the meantime. If you could come along…"

Steed was equally puzzled, but didn't comment. "Of course."

"Right. Emma, if you don't mind riding with me...?"

Emma smiled wickedly at Steed. "Should I?"

"Not on my account," Steed told her.

"Mmm. Just let me get my coat."

***

"I'll say this much," Emma was saying as Gambit fished out his spare key and inserted it in the lock. "I certainly didn't suspect we'd end up here."

"Yes, well, that's where the favour comes in," Gambit murmured uncomfortably as he eased the door open. Emma exchanged glances with Steed before following him inside.

Purdey's flat was just as neat as Steed and Gambit had left it two days earlier. The sun still shone through the window like a beacon of hope, encouraging its owner to return and reclaim her life. Emma felt slightly ill-at-ease, walking into the domain of a woman she'd never met, a woman who, by all accounts, was her replacement--or the replacement of her replacement. Of her replacement, if one counted Gambit in the strange line of descendents. It was like walking in on her own life a decade ago, a life that was no longer hers. She wasn't certain whether the nostalgia was annoying or bittersweet. Or just plain bitter. She shook her head to clear it. For the moment she was her own replacement, but that wouldn't last. Best not to dwell on it too much.

"It's lovely," she commented, for something to say, even if the stark white flat with the floaty curtains and beaded door weren't quite her style. "But I don't know what I'm meant to do here."

"Well, it's just that...Purdey's things are here," Gambit explained uncomfortably.

"I'd deduced that much," Emma said wryly.

"Including her clothes," Gambit went on.

"Well?"

Gambit bit a lip. "If we find her..._when_ we find her, she'll need some things, and since you're a woman I thought, well, maybe you'd know best what she'd like to have along."

Emma grinned. "You want me to pack for her?"

"If you could." Gambit cheeks were reddening in what looked suspiciously like a blush.

"Why me? Surely you know your way around?"

Gambit made a sort of choking noise that implied that this was both true and not necessarily good. Emma strained to contain her amusement. Gambit certainly didn't seem happy about the way things stood.

"I do," he said finally. "But I'd rather it were you."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Won't she take offense?"

"I know she will," Gambit said with conviction. "But if Steed does the honours she'll die of embarrassment. If we get her mother in, Purdey'll be angry for making her worry. And if I try it..." He smiled ruefully. "All I'll say is I don't relish bring on the other end of one of her kicks. At the very least I'm set for a reaming, but at least you'll pack the right things."

"Point taken," Emma replied with a wink, and disappeared behind the beaded curtain. Gambit breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Steed.

"You said you needed to talk to me," Steed reminded.

"I did," Gambit confirmed. "Do you know any reputable jewellers that'll do a rush repair job?"

Steed frowned. "Jewellers? What on earth for?"

"Purdey's chain," Gambit explained, pulling it from his pocket once more. "I'd like to have it put back together before we go. So I can reunite her with it. Sounds silly, but if I lost me St. Christopher, I'd be happy to see it again after the end of something like this."

"I see," Steed replied, eyeing the slip of gold with just a hint of melancholy in the grey eyes. "Certainly I can put you onto someone. Jenkins. He's been doing the work for generations of Steeds. Here." He extracted a slim billfold and removed a card, handed it to Gambit. "Give him my name. He'll see to it that you can pick it up before the flight. Unless you'd like me to drop it off for you?"

"No," Gambit said quickly, scanning the card. "I'd rather do it myself. Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"Just an overdue thank you for pulling my fat out of the fire with McKay after today," Gambit replied sheepishly, tucking card and chain back into his pocket. "Damn, but he's taken us all for a ride. I could still—"

"But you won't," Steed told him levelly, but with an authoritarian edge that didn't leave room for contradiction. "You were lucky this time round, but McKay can't put out the fires if you keep handing him petrol. And you can't help Purdey if you're under house arrest—or worse."

"Right, right," Gambit said, half to himself. "I can't wait to get out of here. I'm likely to go mad otherwise."

"Has Purdey broken a lot of ankles?"

The question caught the pair of them by surprise. They turned to find Emma, standing in the entrance to the bedroom, hands behind her back.

"No," Gambit answered, a line forming between knitted brows. Purdey called it his 'eleven.' He shook off the sudden urge to break down and focussed on Emma instead. "Why?"

Emma's hands appeared brandishing a pair of dangerously high heels. "I'm finding dozens of these and not much else. Does she wear them on assignments?"

"All the time," Gambit informed. "Runs like the wind in them, up and over fences, that sort of thing, although I couldn't tell you how."

Emma eyed up Gambit's boots appraisingly. "She's not the only one. How tall is she?"

Gambit looked Emma up and down. "You've got about half an inch on her," he estimated.

"Well, she doesn't need the height."

"She lost her place in the ballet because of it," Steed put in. "I'm afraid that leaves you out as well, my dear."

"Just as well I was good at maths, then," Emma quipped, eyes dancing.

"That's half the reason, I think," Gambit added. "She's a dancer. She knows how to balance in the things. But she does have boots in there, somewhere. Some of them are in Brazil, but she shouldn't have brought all of them along on a short trip."

"I'll have a look," Emma promised. "Somewhere behind the brown leather jacket, perhaps."

"Brown?" Gambit exchanged glances with Steed. "Purdey's jacket is black."

"See for yourself," Emma offered, rummaging in the depths of the closet as Gambit approached from behind. He pulled the article off the hanger and frowned at it.

"This is mine," he divulged to Steed, who had trailed in after him. "I've been looking for it everywhere. I thought Mrs. Bannister, my cleaning woman, had done something with it. All this time and Purdey's nicked it." He shook his head in fond disbelief.

"I don't suppose these are yours, too?" Emma queried, pointing to a leotard hung inside the closet door.

"No."

"You can't win them all," Steed opined. "Makes one wonder what else she's accumulated, doesn't it?"

"Two pair of boots, apparently," Emma revealed, extracting them from dusty depths. "These will do nicely." She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them. "And unless I miss my guess, I thought you two gentlemen meant to stay out."

"Er..." was Gambit's eloquent reply.

"If you move fast, I may not sell you out," Emma offered, and Steed and Gambit beat a hasty retreat. She shook her head and turned back to the closet.


	14. Connections

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Well, obviously Emma's part of the team this time round. She's quite difficult to write, but I figure that if you've already got a slightly sadder version of Steed for TNA, you can write an older, wiser Emma to match him. Regardless, I never set out to add Emma when I started writing this story. She's not been added gratuitously. But with Purdey and Peter Peel both disappearing in the Amazon jungle, it would have been silly to ignore the connection. If Purdey had gone AWOL in Africa I probably would've used Mrs. Gale.

Anyway, she'll flesh out the dynamic for the forseeable future. I know you're all worried about Purdey, but I promise there aren't many chapters to go before she puts in an appearance. Stay tuned...

* * *

Steed and Gambit mounted the grand staircase of Knight Industries, and entered the thoroughly modern lobby. Gambit didn't bother to stop at reception, simply flashed a card at the girl behind the desk, added a friendly smile for good measure, and headed for the lifts. Steed doffed his bowler at the girl and followed. Gambit had already pressed the button to the penthouse, and was holding the door for his colleague. Steed waited until the doors closed before he spoke.

"You'll get in trouble, flashing your ID when you're not on official business," he pointed out mildly.

Gambit smirked. "It's not my ID," he countered, holding up the laminated card for Steed to see. "Visitor's pass. Emma gave it to me a few months back. Saved time and haggling with the staff."

"I see," Steed murmured, crease appearing between his eyebrows as he looked the other way. "I didn't know you were counted among the regulars."

Gambit shrugged, staring absently at the rows of buttons. "I've taken her to lunch a few times. Or she's taken me. We usually end up haggling about the bill."

"You _have_ gotten close, haven't you?"

"There's no rule against it, is there?" Gambit pointed out. "She's good company."

"The best," Steed acknowledged.

Gambit did look at Steed then, frowning at the other man. "Then why haven't you kept in touch?"

Steed rocked back on his heels uneasily. "Who's to say we haven't? You met her at _my_ party, remember."

"Yes. And I also remember that she came unannounced. Have you talked to her at all since '68?"

"Once or twice," Steed said evasively. He'd run into her once shortly after her divorce, but the brief conversation had been rather awkward, and he wasn't keen on repeating it.

Gambit was unimpressed. "Once in ten years. Don't overdo it."

"There's been more," Steed defended, wondering why he felt at a loss for once against Mike's penetrating stare. "We still exchange Christmas cards," he added lamely, although that had been more out of habit, really.

"But no actual meetings?" Gambit pressed.

"You don't know—"

"I know she hasn't told you about me. That means you either haven't been speaking too often, or she doesn't want you to get the wrong idea and cut her off completely. Or both."

He sighed in exasperation. "What happened to you two? You were inseparable in the sixties. You do know Mr. Peel's out of the picture?"

"Yes, I did manage to locate that in the society pages," Steed confirmed dryly.

"So what's the problem?"

"It's complicated."

Gambit regarded him with half-lidded eyes. "Try me."

"Things change. People change. You have to move on. You can't live your life dwelling on what how things used to be."

"That's it, then?" Gambit sounded almost annoyed. "'You have to move on?' What does that mean? Ten years from now, Purdey and I can expect the occasional Christmas card, and that'll be it?"

Steed was taken aback. "Of course not."

Gambit crossed his arms. "When did you last hear from Mrs. Gale?"

Steed looked shifty. "She does send a card at Christmas, but she's been rather difficult to pin down. Her research takes her all over the world. She hasn't been back to England in months."

"Terrorizing some poor bloke in a jungle somewhere, probably," Gambit murmured, half to himself. "What about Miss King?"

"Ah, Tara I saw only last month," Steed said triumphantly.

"Then it's just Emma, then," Gambit mused with interest.

Steed scowled. "Mrs. Peel," he corrected tersely.

Gambit shook his head, slowly and deliberately. "Not anymore she's not—not to me, at least. No more than Purdey's still 'Miss Bryde'."

"You seem to be taking a great deal of interest in my personal life."

Gambit smiled sadly. "Just thoughtful. I mean, I always thought you and Purdey and I would be tight for life, that this job sort of guaranteed it. But if even you and Emma can drift apart, well, there's not much hope for the rest of us."

Steed softened, ever so slightly. "It's because you get so close...it's awkward trying to go back without the job to hide behind."

"Frightening, even?" Gambit asked knowingly, then went on when Steed didn't answer. "All right for some, I suppose, but I'm hoping for a bit more from Purdey down the road even if you're not in the mood."

"I'm sure you are," Steed murmured, but the doors slid open before Gambit could reply.

Emma Knight was clearing off her desk when she heard the knock. "It's open," she called, stowing the last of the pertinent files in a desk drawer.

Gambit and Steed came in, both slightly on edge and glancing at one another out of the corner of their eyes. Whatever had gone on, they quickly covered it up in front of her. Emma crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, but neither seemed interested in explaining. "Right, ready to go?" Gambit wanted to know, the first of the two to break from whatever mood had set in.

Emma nodded. "Just about. I have to drop the keys to the filing cabinet with Annie. And there's the luggage to attend to." She nodded at the two white suitcases and carryon huddled in the corner of her office.

"Why, Mrs. Peel, you wouldn't be trying to tell us something, would you?" Steed quipped, eyes twinkling merrily.

"Of course not," Emma said, mock serious as she moved to sling the carryon over her shoulder. "But I won't say no to volunteers."

"Point taken," Gambit acknowledged, bending to pick up with one of the cases, and grunting in surprise when it turned out to be heavier then expected. "What did you pack? Bricks?"

"Just some gear," Emma said casually, nodding at the case Steed had hefted without trouble. "That one has my clothes."

Gambit pulled a face, but didn't comment further, saving all his breath for lugging his burden after Steed and Emma. "It'll come in useful if we ever need to weight someone down and throw them in the Amazon," he muttered as they stepped into the lift. "Pym, preferably."

Emma frowned. "That's been bothering me," she murmured.

"My impending backache?" Gambit groaned, rubbing his spine ruefully.

"No, Pym," Emma clarified, tapping a foot impatiently. "I could swear I've heard that name before..."

"He was in the news a few years back," Steed offered.

Emma shook her head. "No, it was something more than that. I wonder..." She reached out and hit one of the buttons on the lift panel, somewhere in the middle of the building. "I think a short detour is in order."

The 'detour' was to a floor Gambit had never visited before. It reminded him of the Ministry's computer lab, used by Purdey and himself when there were problems that were a simple matter of sifting through information and finding common variables, something that would take infinitely longer by hand. This one was infinitely larger, though, and equipped with dozens of monitors, as opposed to the Ministry's handful. As Finder had said, the backroom boys were still in the process of digitising the department's vast cache of records, but a company like Knight Industries needed to keep on top of the latest developments or risked losing its competitive edge. Emma had always been tech savvy in any case.

She strode off as soon as the lift doors were opened, moving across the vast stretch of white tile, up the centre aisle between two rows of computers, to a single machine at the head of the room, obviously reserved for the use of the company's directors. Or maybe even Emma herself. Either way, she started booting the machine immediately, before turning to Steed, and the straggling Gambit, still lugging the indecently heavy suitcase.

"Knight's database is almost completely up to date," she explained. "We've diverted a massive amount of resources toward it. I've a feeling Pym and Knight crossed paths at some point. If he had anything to do with the company, we should be able to find it."

Gambit set the bag down with a 'clunk.' "Do you think it's important?"

"Would we be here if it wasn't?" Steed pointed out.

Emma was already busily clacking away. "What did you say his first name was?"

"Jeremy," Steed supplied.

"Jeremy," Emma murmured softly. "Like Jeremy Wade." Her eyes flicked to Steed momentarily, and Gambit swore he heard a click in the air around them. Something significant, long ago and far away, but nevertheless burned into two minds for eternity, something no one else could understand completely. That was what separated your friends from acquaintances, and that special one from them all. No matter how long he knew Emma, Gambit knew he would never know her as Steed had, the way he still did. Emma was the other man's special case. But it didn't matter. Gambit had found his own special case. If only he could find her again.

"Aha!" Emma's exclamation broke into his thoughts, yanking Gambit back into the present. "It's as I thought. Jeremy Pym. His firm was consulting with Knight concerning a government contract." She scrolled through the file. "Both the contract and Knight's association with Pym were terminated rather abruptly in April, 1966."

Gambit felt a niggling sensation at the back of his mind. There was more here than met the eye. "Why was it terminated?" he queried, and Emma frowned.

"I don't know. There's no reason given, but...ah!" She pointed at the screen. "That part of the file is restricted. Fortunately, I'm on the right list."

"One of many," Steed said with a spark in his eye, and Emma smiled lopsidedly. She entered a password and found her way to the next level of the system.

"Here we are," Emma announced, and the trio crowded around the screen. "Pym's loyalties had been under question for some time by certain government branches."

"But not ours?" Gambit asked, and Emma shook her head.

"One agent in particular, it seems, had his eye on Pym. He'd requested permission to work undercover with various other businesses that Pym consulted with, but Knight was the only one to let him in."

"Why?"

Emma grinned. "Because the chairwoman had some experience in that area."

Gambit grinned back. "Not many part-time spies on the corporate payroll."

"More than I'd like, actually," Emma said wryly. "Anyway, I didn't have anything directly to do with him. I merely signed off on it."

"Then what happened?"

"The agent found something," Emma went on. "Enough that Pym fled the country with the agent in pursuit."

"And then?"

Emma shrugged. "The file ends. But we have the agent's name. It was—" She froze, eyes locked on the screen. "Steed..."

"I see it," Steed confirmed, exchanging glances with Gambit. "Jonathan Bryde. Purdey's father."

"1966," Mike added faintly. "And he followed Pym. That must have been his—"

"—Last assignment?" Steed's eyes were dark. "Yes."

Gambit moved off to pace the corridor. He made it back and forth once. "Tell me you didn't know," he demanded levelly. "Tell me you haven't been holding out on Purdey."

"I haven't," Steed confirmed. "You can see for yourself. It wasn't Ministry business. You know how it is with other departments. Play everything close to the chest. I read about it in the morning papers like everyone else. Even then I didn't make the connection until Purdey told us herself."

Gambit nodded, as though he accepted this. "And Emma?"

"As I said, I only signed some piece of paper allowing it, along with everyone else on the board. In 1966 I more or less let Knight run itself. Not to mention certain other distractions that kept me from following it too closely." She looked pointedly at Steed.

"All right." Gambit pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache. "Does this help us, or just rank up there with coincidence of the year?"

"It tells us that I was I right in making one of these for you, Mrs. Peel," Steed informed, delving into his pocket and producing a trio of passports. He handed one to Emma. "Grey's going to have his men on the lookout for Gambit and me. He's not convinced we're taking a relaxing vacation. But if Pym was associated with you, no matter how distantly, then it's advisable that your identity stay under wraps as well."

Emma arched an eyebrow and opened the booklet, lips twitching toward a smile at the name accompanying her photo. " 'Magnolia Thunderpussy'? Have you been brushing up on your Ian Fleming?"

"I don't know what you mean," Steed said with mock innocence, handing Gambit his own documents as he spoke.

" 'Frederick Norton'?" Gambit read aloud, arching an eyebrow at Steed. "Should I get the joke?"

Emma exchanged glances with Steed. "Let's put it this way," she said to Mike. "With that suitcase, you're right in character."

Gambit grunted unenthusiastically and picked up the bag. "Never mind. Let's go and leave some of the shockers to Brazil."

***

They didn't sit together on the plane. Steed had made certain of that. There was no sense in giving the game away before they'd even left England. Gambit couldn't disagree with that.

The flight was uneventful. Gambit tried to read, tried to sleep, tried to watch the in-flight movie, but his attention was elsewhere. Nothing could fully absorb his attention until Purdey was found. He drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest and hoped that now that he had a chance to investigate that he'd be successful. That he wasn't too late. He didn't want to think about the consequences if he was.

It was late-afternoon by the time they arrived in Brazil. Steed's rule of separateness extended to their cabs and check-ins at the hotel. It wasn't the same place in which Purdey had lodged, but there was less of a chance of being spotted by one of Grey's men that way. It was only when Gambit had made a sweep of his room for surveillance equipment that he ventured out into the hall, running into Emma on his way to Steed's room. The senior agent was busy unpacking shaving equipment.

"Right. What's the plan of attack?" Emma queried as she perched comfortably on the edge of Steed's bed. A half-dozen rumours coursed through Gambits brain at the gesture, but Purdey had been known to do similar things, and they'd never… Well, rumours were just that. Rumours. Weren't they?

Steed smiled down fondly at her, and another of those moments crackled through the air. "For now, we lie low. Go to your rooms, get some sleep, and don't come out until I've contacted you. I don't think we've been followed, but keep alert just in case. Grey's men might see past the fake names, and if they do, they'll want to deal with us as soon as possible."

"Barricade the doors against intruders," Emma suggested, eyes dancing. "Then what?"

"We'll discuss that later. For the moment, I think it's better if we limit contact. Check your rooms when you go back. Just in case someone's been visiting."

Gambit saluted jauntily. "Aye aye."

Steed grinned. "Dismissed."

"Do you always obey orders?" Emma asked as they headed back down the hall.

"Always," Gambit confirmed. "Except when I don't. But then, I was in the military."

"But I wasn't," Emma reminded, eyes dancing.

Gambit eyed her up. "Planning on mutiny?"

"Just a bit," she said coyly, ducking into her room. Gambit just smiled and shook his head.

***

Gambit slept fitfully. The prospect of attack was on his mind, of course, but more than that, it was Purdey. They were here, now, where he had believed from the beginning he could do the most good. But now he had doubts. What if his own investigations turned up nothing? What if Purdey really was lost to the world, and there was nothing he could do about it? He sighed and turned over. There was nothing to do but try. He'd have to remember that. But still, he knew sleep was going to be nearly impossible.

The morning arrived after an eternity, and Gambit rose unrefreshed to shower and dress. The first order of business was to check that Steed and Emma had made it through the night without incident. He vacated his own room, and set off down the hall. Steed was approaching from the other end and they met halfway at the ultimate destination, in front of Emma's door. Steed eyed up his tired colleague.

"Any disturbances?"

Gambit shook his head. "Nothing outside my own head. They wouldn't have had much of a chance to sneak up on me as it was. I slept like hell."

"You look like hell," Steed observed with sympathy. "I think you may be faring worse than Purdey."

"I hope so," Gambit muttered, looking Steed up and down. His suit was impeccable, as usual. "You obviously made it."

"Yes, I think it's safe to say we haven't been spotted. We'll just see about Mrs. Peel." He knocked on Emma's door, and the pair waited quietly for the occupant to answer. After half a minute of silence, Steed tried again, this time with a frown. Pressing an ear to the door revealed no sounds of life, no movement within. He looked to Gambit.

"She could be in the bathroom,"Mike tried, but his expression said otherwise. "With the door shut. Maybe she can't hear us."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Steed murmured, delving in his pocket for something to pick the lock. "Let's hope the worst she's about to suffer is violated privacy."

Gambit kept a look out while Steed went to work. It didn't take particularly long, and Gambit marvelled at the man's technique, even after witnessing it so many times over the years. Gambit knew his own ability to force entry without bruising the lock owed something to the master.

Steed had the door open now, just a crack, and he peered through before standing to one side of the door and gesturing for Gambit to do the same. It was only then that he removed the bowler and placed it over the umbrella's handle, before reaching the hat end over to gently prod the door open, letting the hat peer around the corner. Gambit held his breath, waiting to see if someone would take the bait.

Nothing happened.

Still cautious, Steed inched over to the door and gave the room a quick sweep before taking the first step inside. Gambit brought up the rear and followed suit. The room was laid out like his own, and bore all the signs of occupation. The covers on the bed were pushed back, and the pillow had a dent in it. The remains of a breakfast tray were laid out on the small table in the corner of the room. Steed walked over to feel the coffee pot while Gambit moved to the bathroom. "Cold," he said to himself, turning as Gambit emerged. "Well?"

"Damp toothbrush, damp towel, water in the shower. She wasn't here that long ago, but she's gone now." He shrugged. "No sign of a struggle. I'd say she's gone out for a bit."

"Yes, but where? And why?" Steed wanted to know, a worried line appearing beneath his brows. "Look for notes by the telephone, that sort of thing. I'll phone the front desk. We'll see if we can find out where she's gone."

"Or you could save time and ask her yourself," Emma Knight suggested from the doorway. "Really, Steed, I can handle Brazil quite well on my own."

"But can it handle you?" Gambit quipped with relief. They didn't need two missing women.

"It'll have to," Emma declared, closing the door that they'd inadvertently left gaping behind her. "I had a few errands to run."

"I would have come along. You should have called," Steed chastised gently. Emma smirked.

"You need your beauty sleep," she said dryly. "Anyway, I've seen to our transport into the jungle. I've hired a boat from the same man who accompanied me to look for Peter. We can leave as early as tomorrow morning. And I sent a message to the tribe, but it'll take a few days for them to receive it. They're not particularly interested in keeping close contact."

"Excellent," Steed proclaimed. "Do you know if you were followed?"

Emma pulled off her wide-brimmed hat and shook out the auburn tresses. "No. I kept a close watch, but I think we've managed to sneak in under the radar. As long as we don't press our luck...."

"I'm not planning on it. Not in Manaus, in any case," Steed told her. "We'll leave tomorrow. There isn't much to be learned here."

"What's the plan of action, then?" Emma queried, tossing the hat with admirable accuracy onto a ghastly statue that was obviously some poor soul's misguided attempt at modern art. "Or are we going to languish in our rooms until evening?"

"There is one place we should check," Gambit revealed. "Purdey's hotel room. Manders' report said it was preserved as part of the investigation, didn't it?"

"Right," Steed confirmed. "None of her things have been touched. It's a good place to start."

"Do you think it'll help?" Emma wanted to know. "What are you expecting to find?"

Gambit shrugged. "Don't know. Might be more interesting to see what's _not_ there. If someone's been in there that shouldn't, it might give us a clue about what's happened to her. Or why she was taken."

"Sounds reasonable," Emma agreed, doffing the jacket she'd donned for the early morning cool to reveal a white linen t-shirt beneath. "But if the hotel's within walking distance, I suggest we keep to the shade." She nodded at Steed's bowler. "And dispense with the steel. We wouldn't want you to overheat."

Steed tapped the chapeau jauntily. "I'll think cool," he demurred, and opened the door for her.

***

The guard in front of room 718 was very, very bored. His shift had started only an hour ago, but it felt like centuries. He was fairly certain his foot had gone to sleep, and the rest of him threatened to follow suit. He'd had this assignment for nearly three weeks now, and the same hallway walls, painted an uninspiring shade of taupe, didn't provide much in the way of stimulation.

That was why the woman was so welcome. She was late thirties, but the spring in her step was that of a twenty-year-old, and the swirl of auburn hair had yet to be tarnished with grey. She smiled winningly at him as she passed, brown eyes alight with humour. Her destination was a room three doors down from his post, and he took the opportunity to admire her figure, outlined perfectly by the white linen top she was wearing. A thin sheen of perspiration made the material cling just a little more than usual, and the guard let his gaze linger as the woman tried unsuccessfully to insert a key into the lock. She tried three times before frowning at the key in her hand, foot tapping impatiently. Then she turned and seemed to notice the guard for the first time. She shrugged in defeat and took a few steps toward him.

"I think they've given me a defective key," she said in warm, lively tones. "It doesn't seem to fit."

The guard held out his hand, happy to help. "Would you like me to take a look?"

"Oh, would you?" She handed him the slip of metal, and he examined it for a moment before smiling.

"Ah, here's the problem, miss." He pointed at the engraved digits on the key. "This is for room 622. You're up a floor." He handed the key back to her.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, laughing. Her laugh was as lovely as the rest of her. "That wasn't very clever of me, was it?"

"Easy mistake, miss. Anyone could make it," the guard demurred, mentally noting the room number for future reference. Perhaps he could bump into her at the end of his shift.

"Well, thank you very much," she said sincerely. "Let's see if I can get it right on the second try." She set off for the lifts, smiling once at him over her shoulder before stepping inside.

Emma waited until the doors had closed before she spoke. "There's just one. British. Probably one of Grey's. One service revolver. Very bored."

"Do you think he suspected?" Steed queried, stepping away from the wall of the lift, where he and Gambit had been out of the guard's line of sight.

Emma snorted. "I think I'm his first bit of entertainment in weeks. We're safe." The lift doors opened on the sixth floor, and the trio stepped out and made their way over to the clutch of armchairs nestled in the small foyer. "The only problem is getting past." She settled into a chair.

"He'll be on the lookout for Steed and me," Gambit pointed out. "And he's seen you, so there's no sneaking you in as a maid."

"Too bad," Emma said with obvious sarcasm. "I'm not in the mood for any more costumes."

"You wore them very well," Steed murmured appreciatively.

Gambit tapped the arm of his chair impatiently. "There's no other way in?"

"Not unless you fancy traversing an inch-wide ledge seven stories up," Steed said mildly.

"We could just overpower him, I suppose."

"We want to keep Grey from suspecting, not send him an invitation to have us dragged back for interference."

"He had a radio," Emma revealed. "We could find the frequency and have him called away."

Steed sucked his teeth. "There's still a problem when he finds out there's no assignment. Grey will be on high alert for anomalies. We need a diversion that doesn't make them think sabotage."

Emma sighed and let her eyes rove over the foyer. Her eyes alighted on something across the hall. An impish grin passed over the feline features. "I think," she said slowly, "I may have the answer."

Gambit and Steed exchanged puzzled glances as she sprang up from her chair and made her way quickly to the facing wall onto which two plaques had been affixed, indicating the range of room numbers in each direction. Directly between them was their way in. Emma pointed her chin at it as Steed and Gambit came up behind her.

It was a small red box, complete with its own tiny hammer, and a message obvious in any language: "In case of fire, break glass."

"The fire alarm," Gambit said thoughtfully. "That might work."

"Think about it," Emma pressed. "We need a diversion that doesn't specifically target the guard. Otherwise Grey will be suspicious. This way the whole hotel's affected—our guard is one of the crowd. Fire alarms are set off all the time—it could easily be a teenager having a laugh."

"And it would clear the hotel of witnesses until the firemen got here," Gambit chimed in. "That should give us long enough to search the room."

"And we can slip away in the confusion," Steed finished. "I think it might work."

"But do you think he'll leave?" Gambit wondered. "Grey may have ordered him to stay put, come hell or high water."

Emma regarded him with unfazed eyes. "Would you stay and risk death by fire?"

Gambit grinned. "For you, maybe."

"But not for a missing woman's suitcase. I don't think he's paid well enough for that." She nodded down the hall at the door labelled "Emergency Exit." "The elevator's not meant for use during a fire, so the guests will take the stairs."

"More for us," Steed said cheerfully. "Shall we do the deed now, or…?"

Emma shook her head. "The guard thinks I'm staying on this floor. There's a link, however tenuous, that he might catch on. We should move someplace else."

"My dear, I'm delighted that you've retained that keen intellect of yours after all these years."

Emma smiled fondly. "That makes two of us."

They took the lift up to the ninth floor, and Gambit and Steed held the doors while Emma darted out and did the honours. She gave the glass a jaunty tap, then retreated before the first guest could spot her. Gambit pushed the seventh floor indicator and waited until they were between floors before slamming the emergency stop button. The lift shuddered to a halt, and Emma consulted her watch.

"Five minutes should do," Steed predicted, and Emma nodded in agreement.

"Not long to wait," she declared.

Gambit snorted. "Except when you're doing the waiting. I hope you're all right in enclosed spaces."

Emma's mouth quirked up on one side. "Ask me again when you've tried a coffin."

"Oh, yes, I remember reading about that," Gambit said thoughtfully. "Almost buried alive. That could've been nasty. Made good reading though--got me through a whole hour avoiding Ste—I mean, Kendrick, one afternoon" he corrected quickly at Steed's scowl.

"I didn't invent the forms," Steed reminded. "But if you didn't let them pile up, McKay wouldn't put pressure on me, and I wouldn't have to do the same to you."

"It was only a week," Gambit justified.

Emma looked from one to another in disbelief. "Do you do this often?"

"He's used to sparring with Purdey," Steed explained, locking eyes with Mike. "I've a sneaking suspicion they were married for one too many decades in another life."

Emma bit back a laugh and turned back to Gambit. "Mike, you should have told me. I wouldn't want to put you in a compromising position."

"We are _not _like an old married couple," Gambit grumbled, although the blush dusting his cheeks said otherwise. "We're just…opinionated."

"I caught them arguing over the dishes only last month," Steed informed, mischievous grin stretching his lips.

"It was her turn!" Gambit snapped, as Emma's shoulders started shaking. "As though you two were any better."

"I don't remember any fallouts over dishes," Emma choked, trying desperately to regain her composure. "Sorry, I don't know why I think it's so funny."

"Neither do I," Gambit said sourly, and hit the emergency button again.

"But the five minutes aren't up."

"I'll take my chances with the guard. Maybe he'll put me out of my misery."

But the hall was empty. Everyone, including the guard, had decided to be on the safe side and not wait for the flames to start licking at their heels. The trio darted out of the lift and made for the door, well-aware that the clock was ticking. There would be questions if the firemen found them inside without a good explanation, poking around rooms that weren't theirs. An arrest for burglary was the last thing anyone needed.

Gambit made it first, and set to work immediately with a piece of wire while Steed and Emma kept watch. It took mere seconds, but with the pressure on, it felt like ages, and Gambit felt uncomfortably exposed in the bare halls. His hands were slick with sweat, but he wasn't sure if it was the fear for what he might find, the risk of being caught, or just the heat of Brazil. Regardless, he was happy to hear the telltale click and dive into the cover of the room beyond.

It was a fairly standard hotel suite. Gambit wasn't certain why this surprised him. Maybe he was expecting more of the last place Purdey had laid her head before disappearing into the jungle. But if he was to glean any comfort from this place, he would have to make it himself. He looked to Steed and Emma, and the three fanned out automatically to begin their search.

The room hadn't been left completely untouched. The maid had obviously made her rounds before word of Purdey's disappearance had activated Grey's Brazilian contacts. Gambit was sorry they hadn't. It would've been encouraging to see some sign of life—an unmade bed, a glass with a lipstick stained rim. Anything. This place, wiped clean, reminded him too much of the solemn, silent process carried out by the men in files, as they unceremoniously destroyed a dead agent's documents, erased his very existence, denied him to any and all who spoke his name. That would happen to Purdey if they didn't find her—she would be an empty room, wiped clean of any identifying marks. All that would remain was a number, a record of another of the Ministry's fallen. He couldn't let that happen.

He shook off the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm him, and went to work. The closet seemed a good place to start. He made his way over and opened the door, spotted the suitcase on the top shelf. Purdey's. He reached up and grasped the handle, felt the déjà vu wash over him as he remembered stretching over Purdey's blonde head to retrieve it. So she could pack. And come here.

No time for nostalgia. It wouldn't bring Purdey back. Only hard work would do that. He gave the suitcase a heave and set it on the bed, opened it and found most of her clothes inside. She hadn't been planning on staying long enough to unpack. Only one outfit was missing—the one she'd been wearing when she'd…gone.

Steed was in the bathroom, and poked his bowler-hatted head out to give it a shake. Nothing. They were running out of time, and this was rapidly turning into a wild goose chase. Gambit hadn't been sure what he expected to find here, but it felt right that there should be something amiss. Something to do with Pym, or Grey, or both. Something missing, or tampered with. But it was only a protected site, a routine precaution in every sort of investigation. Gambit sighed at Purdey's orphaned belongings. He wished he could take them along without arousing suspicion. It stuck in his craw that Grey was officially in charge of them at the moment. He had no right to them. He had no right to her past. Or her.

"Here's something." Emma had found Purdey's passport, taped behind a drawer in the so-obvious-no-one-would-look-there spot that Purdey and he would see the humour in. She flipped it open and scanned the details. "This was faked," she observed to the room at large.

"Yes, for security," Gambit explained, closing the case. "So her name wouldn't pop up on any flight lists and set off alarm bells."

"Really?" Emma murmured, extracting a folded piece of paper from her trouser pocket. She unfolded it and spread it out on the dresser, skimmed it, a lime appearing between her eyebrows. "As I thought. The flight list doesn't have her faked name. See? 'Bryde, Purdey E.' Right down to the initial."

"Where on earth did you get that?" Steed wanted to know, coming up behind her.

"Oh, didn't I mention? I have a friend of a friend with contacts in the right places. It was one of errands this morning. I was confirming that our fake identities had gone through, and thought I'd ask for Purdey's flight while I was at it. Now I'm glad I did." She showed them the paper, lips pursed. "If ours worked, hers should have. Meaning…"

"Someone spilled the beans," Steed finished, glancing at Gambit. "And I've a good idea who."

"Well, now we know how Pym found her," Gambit muttered angrily. "Hang onto that. We might be able to use that against Grey later."

Steed shook his head. "They'll know we've been here if it's gone, and if they don't notice they'll have questions as to how we got ahold of it on holiday. No, we know it was faked. Mrs. Peel's flight list will be enough to prove wrongdoing. Now—" He crossed the room and glanced out the window at the fire trucks below. "—We've outstayed our welcome."

Gambit and Emma snapped into life, returning the room to its original state before darting out the door. By the time the firemen had declared the building safe, the trio was winding its way through the crowd, back to the hotel, the guard none the wiser, but happy that his shift had been at least moderately entertaining.


	15. In the Jungle

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Well, I've let another good chunk of time elapse between updates, but this one's longest of all, which ought to make up for it. Our new trio does a little hiking and investigating. We're a little over halfway now.

There are quite a few allusions to some other fics in this one, including some that haven't been uploaded yet. But those with a familiarity with _The Anniversary_ ought to pick up on a few.

I promise some rather important developments next chapter. Hopefully that'll be sooner rather than later.

* * *

They made arrangements to leave the next morning, and spent the rest of the day lying low in their rooms. Gambit found himself fiddling with Purdey's chain. The repair was flawless. No one would have known it was broken. Not unless they knew the history behind it.

He still remembered that day, the one that seemed so long ago, when Purdey's hair had fallen out of its updo and around her shoulders in golden waves as she explained who her father was, her eyes riveted on the dead man who had revealed her secret with his dying breath, and the way her hand had gone to her clavicle, to touch the sliver of gold there. The piece of her father she had always kept with her.

_Will! Will always keep with her. Don't start with the past tense. That's the last thing you need._ He rubbed his face tiredly. He had to quit doing this to himself. It wasn't helping anyone, least of all Purdey, that he hadn't had a decent night's sleep since she'd gone. Not counting his near coma 18 hours at Steed's. But that had only served to remind him of how much he needed the rest. He rose and let Purdey's chain slip from his fingers to pool on the nightstand. He didn't need a pill. He needed advice. He thought he knew where to get it.

It was clear that Emma Knight was getting ready to turn in when she answered the door. Her slim figure was wrapped in a dressing gown, but a pair of silk pajamas was visible below the hem, and when the sleeves slid back. She didn't look particularly displeased at the intrusion, just arched one of those ironic eyebrows at him and let it do the talking.

"Come for a bedtime story?"

"Just about," Gambit admitted, running a hand through the dark curls self-consciously. "I know it's late, but if you could spare a minute..."

She gestured for him to enter, closed the door softly behind him, crossed her arms and made her way unhurriedly to where he stood in the middle of the room. "Well?" she asked, not unkindly. "Is this about Purdey?"

"Not much isn't these days," Gambit said with half a chuckle, but there was no humour in it. "This might sound strange, but I need some advice, and you're the only one qualified to give it."

Emma's eyebrow was up again, this time with interest. "I'll do my best," she told him. She indicated the chair. "Do you need to sit down?"

"No, no, I don't want to take up that much of your time." He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "This might be personal. If you don't want to answer..."

"I'll be the judge of that. But I won't know until you've asked, will I?" Emma pointed out. "I haven't seen you this tonguetied since we met."

"Could you blame me? Emma Peel, agreeing to have a drink with me. I nearly died of shock."

"Just as well you didn't. My CPR's rusty. Go on. Ask. Don't spare my blushes."

Gambit took a deep breath, met her eyes. "How did you do it?"

Emma cocked her head. "A bit thin on the details."

"When Peel was missing, all those years ago, and you didn't know what happened. If he was dead or alive. If there was any hope left. How did you stay sane in those early days, those first few weeks?"

Emma pursed her lips, and looked thoughtful. "It all seems so long ago. So much has happened since then..."

"I know," Gambit agreed. "And I know it's hard to weed out your feelings now from when you—"

"Loved him?" Emma finished knowingly. "I suppose so. But I do remember being in the same situation. I spent weeks just like you, feeling helpless, wanting to do _something_, anything except keep the home fires burning and take tea with the other wives while the Air Force went over the jungle satellite photos. But when I got here, to Brazil." She shrugged. "I knew if there was any good to be done, I was going to do it. It may sound narcissistic, but I told myself that he had a better chance, now that I was here. That he wasn't facing it all on his own anymore. That he had an ally, even if he didn't know it, because he needed one. _Everyone _needs an ally. And if you're here, then Purdey, wherever she is, has hope. She knows you'd never leave her to her fate. And now you're holding up your end." She uncrossed her arms, opened her hands, help them palm up as if presenting an offering. "Does that help?"

Gambit smiled, a real smile, the first she'd seen since Steed had brought her in. "Yes," he assured. "Thanks. That's just what I needed."

"I'm planning a book. 'Sage Words of a Would-Be Widow.'"

"I'd buy it," Gambit vouched, turning to leave. "Good night, Emma."

She smiled lopsidedly. "Sleep well."

***

Early the next morning they took the boat out, just the three of them. Nobody was willing to risk hiring a crew, even if they had snuck in under Grey's radar. There was no point in taking chances, and between the ex-sailor and two very able hands, they were on their way down the Amazon before the city had stirred.

Steed and Emma had settled on a spot for the camp over breakfast, an hour's journey from the native village Emma knew, and in close proximity to both Grieve's camp, and Pym's newly commandeered base. Gambit had found them huddled over maps and charts, taking breakfast as they did so. They were so natural together Gambit couldn't help but smile. At the very least, some reforged bonds would come from this mess.

The trip took most of the day, and the light was dying by the time they had concealed the boat and trekked to the site. It was nestled, far from sight, behind some of the amazingly old trees. It was awe-inspiring, and Gambit wished he were visiting under happier circumstances. He'd have to remember to come back one day, when the associations had dulled in his mind. Now he had other things to attend to.

Emma's efficiency in setting up camp reminded him that this wasn't her first visit, and that her last trip, as she told them, had been made alone. With two others it was a simple matter to pitch the tents in the shelter of the trees. It was still hard work, though, and Gambit was actually hungry for the evening meal, which somehow made things a bit better. He was feeling more optimistic overall now that he was in the jungle. Something told him Purdey could be found, just as long as he tried. Combined with the clear air, and Gambit knew he would sleep better that night. All the same, he took the first watch.

It was Steed who prodded him into bed at midnight, ever-present umbrella shielding him from the sudden downpour that had started an hour earlier, and Steed again who used the same point to rouse him for breakfast. It hadn't yet gone six, but it was agreed that their starting point, the camp where Purdey was last seen, would be better viewed in the early hours, when the night watch had yet to be relieved.

The first guard they spotted was fairly dozy as it happened, but his half dozen friends looked a shade more alert. Not surprisingly, the camp's security had been upped, even this long after the attack. The camp itself was still drowsy this early, few of Grey's people early enough risers to be up and about. This made things a touch easier. While they couldn't investigate the camp personally, they could at the very least get their bearings to follow Purdey's path. They already knew where she'd been taken _from_; the more important question was where she was taken _to_. Emma extracted two pairs of binoculars from her pack and handed one to Gambit before scanning the site from their cover. "Right, what am I looking for?"

Steed extracted the reports that he'd had Finder "unofficially" copy on his break, after Steed himself had "unofficially" borrowed them. "Purdey's trail was benchmarked not long after the attack, but we'll need to get our bearings if we don't want to end up turned around. The layout of the camp has probably changed since the attack, but Purdey's tent was in the northeast corner." He turned the diagram included in the sheaf of papers, and oriented it for their position. "That should be to your left, Mrs. Peel. Eleven o'clock."

Emma swivelled and made adjustments to her Hobbesian multiplying glasses. "There's a workstation there now, but I think I can make out the area where the tents were."

"I see it," Gambit confirmed. "Which way did Purdey go?"

"She was heading for Miss Grieve," Steed murmured, tracing the route with his finger. "That would be southwest. Knowing Purdey, she'd keep to the treeline for cover. Miss Grieve was at the southern end of the camp, but Purdey never made it. She was grabbed somewhere along the treeline."

"Probably the southeast corner," Emma hypothesized, lowering her binoculars to glance at Steed's map. "From what I understand the car was halfway between the southern corners of the camp. If Purdey never made it, and she was still a ways off, I'd say her assailants came from behind, out of the trees. The corner would be the most dangerous place for her—unknowns on two sides."

Gambit was tracking the movements as they voiced them, found himself picturing the dark, and the chaos, illuminated sporadically by gunfire, and torches, and the headlights of the vehicle where she meant to take refuge. And he could see her, moving gracefully through the turmoil, dancing the fine line between the shadow and the light. How had she felt? Afraid? Exhilarated? Somehow, he thought the latter, could see her with a smile on her lips, mad and impetuous, but distinctly Purdey, fresh from her triumph against the enemy. But he could also see the shadows creeping in from behind, dark shapes that threatened to swallow her whole, her oblivious with all the danger around her. He wanted to cry out, to warn her, but she couldn't hear him. Because she wasn't there. Because he hadn't been there.

_I'm here now, though._

"Gambit!" Emma hissed, and the image faded before his eyes. He lowered the glasses and realised both his colleagues were staring at him.

"What?"

"Get down," Steed said urgently, hooking the brolly's handle around his wrist and pulling hard. Gambit only just had time to control his fall and keep from landing on his face. He scrabbled for cover, glancing at his partners for an explanation.

"What's happened?"

"They're patrolling," Emma said with vague annoyance. "We were almost spotted."

Gambit ducked his head. "Sorry," he apologized, mentally kicking himself for letting his mind wander. But it was so easy to imagine shadows in the untamed wild, the way he had in Africa. And he could taste the fear. His fear. Maybe Purdey's. Emma was talking again, and he forced himself to listen.

"We're fairly certain we've located where she was taken," Emma explained, pointing at the diagram. "The description's a bit confused, but it makes sense logically, and between the three of us, we should be able to sweep all the possible areas she may have been on the way to the ravine."

"That's where they found the chain?" Gambit queried, remembering the little envelope in his pocket.

"Right," Steed confirmed. "But we'll need to take the scenic route to avoid crossing paths with—" He pointed towards the patrolling guard.

"I'll lead," Emma said pointedly, and Gambit didn't argue. Not until he had his wits back. He set about following Emma's crouched figure, and couldn't help but notice Steed bringing up the rear, as though to flank him. _Even they know you're losing it. Better prove otherwise and fast if you don't want to end up back in Kendrick's office with the prescription pad._ He took a deep breath. Just like Africa. All he had to do was forget how to feel.

***

The jungle was dense on the way to the ravine, and Gambit tripped over more than one root on his journey, treating the local wildlife to some of the more colourful turns of phrase in the English vocabulary, and a few other languages for good measure. True to the simile, Gambit could curse like the sailor he was when the situation warranted, but he'd always been mindful of context, and what passed without so much as a raised eyebrow below ship or on the racing circuit was frowned on by the more officious types in the Ministry corridors. As such, Gambit's extensive linguistic skills in the world of obscenities had atrophied in recent years. Steed didn't turn to strong language often, and one felt self-conscious letting the side down. And then Purdey had come into the picture, and the day John Steed cursed a blue streak with a lady present would be the day to pack it in and wait for the world to end. As for Gambit, he had his own reasons for keeping things clean, and they had nothing to do with Purdey's delicate ears. On the contrary, Gambit had the sneaking suspicion she'd be a quick learner, and it would somehow come back to haunt him. Purdey had no such restraints, and he knew she could do one of his old navy buddies proud when the mood was right. Gambit smiled to himself, and wondered if he uttered some Portuguese turns of phrase to suit the mood if Purdey would turn up asking for a translation.

Steed and Emma were a short distance away on either side, also scanning the undergrowth for any sign of Purdey's involuntary journey, no matter how minute. It had been too long for a decent trail to still be visible, and matters weren't helped by the fact that Grey's people had been trampling through making a mess of things. But there was always the chance that something had been missed, and Gambit had been a good tracker in his Africa days. But that didn't help much when there was nothing to track. Grey's people had been conscientious about the benchmarks at least. Every few feet another shiny disc of metal flagged their path. The men that took Purdey had obviously travelled in a zigzag to lose pursuers, and that tripled their travel time. But they were moving away from the camp at least, and from the watchful eyes of the guards.

"They certainly knew their way around, didn't they?" Emma commented, slightly winded after clambering over her fourth fallen tree. "Taking the scenic route in the dark, even with a torch, is asking for a wrong turning or a broken ankle."

"They're professionals," Gambit reminded. "They've probably been over this part of the jungle dozens of times. And Pym likely pays enough to make it worth their while."

Emma nodded, then frowned. "How many did you say took Purdey?"

"Three, according to the report," Steed chimed in from the rear. "Any fewer and Purdey would've had a better chance of fending them off back at the camp." He caught Emma's thoughtful expression, and knew something had stirred her lightning-quick mind. "Why?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm not sure. But three less the two that were killed means one, and Purdey would have been all right with even odds."

"There were more in the jeep," Gambit reminded, glancing down at the next marker. "That would have made it harder."

"Still," Emma brown eyes were alive with possibilities. "Something doesn't add up, and it's not just the maths."

She was right, too. Gambit didn't know how, but when they emerged from the greenery to join him on the edge of the ravine, the light had been shed in more ways than one. Something was ticking over in his mind, too, but every time he chased it, it danced out of reach. He gave up in frustration, hoping it would come to him later on. He sighed, trying to keep up hope for the next round of the search. This was where Purdey had been taken, where Pym's men had been shot. Hopefully it would provide more answers than the trail. It _had_ to.

"The car was over here, apparently," Steed informed, walking over to a bare spot attached to a roughhewn road. He wasn't giving up, so there was no reason why Gambit should. "The report says that Pym's men were killed here." He bent and scratched a pair of x's in the soft earth with his brolly. "There were at least three figures that retaliated and made it to the vehicle and drove off. No clear description, so there's no way of knowing if Purdey was with them, but that's been the general consensus." Steed glanced up the road with an appraising eye. "This should take us to Pym's base. I'd say that was the best place to start."

Emma nodded in agreement. "If they did want Purdey as a hostage, they'd want her along. Or Pym wanted her for a vendetta." She nodded to where Gambit stood. "She was standing where you were, though. That's where they found her chain."

Gambit looked down at his boots, wondered what had drawn him to the same spot, if it had been coincidence, or some strange sort of fate. He glanced over the edge and winced inwardly, wondering it Purdey had been able to see how steep it was in the dark. _Wait..._

It hit him suddenly, so suddenly he nearly lost his footing and took a tumble. "I don't think she was in the car," he murmured, dropping into a crouch. "I think she took the long way down."

Emma frowned and made her way over with Steed in tow. "What?"

Gambit pointed over the edge of the ravine, eyes fixated on a point in the middle distance, leaning forward like an overeager Golden Retriever. "She wasn't in the car. She went over the edge."

Steed was frowning too now. "They made a thorough sweep of the area, but there was no—"

"They made a through sweep of the flat bits," Gambit countered, straightening up. "But Grey was never going to pull out all the stops for Purdey when she wasn't even one of his own. Besides, she'd served her purpose, hadn't she? Provoked Pym. I don't think he gives a damn about much else."

"Still—" Steed tried, but Gambit was being uncharacteristically forceful, and he found himself cut off before he could begin.

"There's something else," Gambit went on, pointing down. "It's steep to begin with, and I'd wager if Purdey jumped or fell, she wouldn't hit the ground until she was a ways down. That means any damage she caused wouldn't be visible unless you really stretched. Anyone just glancing over from the top would assume she hadn't gone that way."

Emma was crouching now, holding onto a stubborn root so she could stretch over the cliff. She smiled ruefully at Steed. "He's right. No one would see a trail unless they made a point of looking. And by now the trail's long gone. If she wasn't in the jeep..."

"Do we have any reason to believe she wasn't?" Steed wanted to know.

"Yes," Gambit said slowly. "Emma's maths. Now I know what's wrong." He straightened up, looked Steed in the eye. "There were three men with Purdey. That's four. Then someone had to drive the jeep out. That makes five at the very least, _if_ he came alone, and I'll wager he didn't. Let's say six, including Purdey. Less the two that died, and we've got Purdey and three."

"There were only three in the jeep when it drove away," Emma reminded. "If there were only five to begin with then she could have been one of them."

"Right," Gambit acknowledged. "But all three fired back, didn't they? It's in the report. But Purdey, Purdey wouldn't have any reason to do that. If anything, she'd be struggling like the Dickens. And she's slimmer than the rest. Grey's people would've noticed her if they'd bundled her into the jeep, no matter how dark it was. Steed, you know how she can kick up a fuss. She'd have gotten their attention if she was there."

The light was dawning in Steed's eyes. "So if she wasn't taken..."

"And she wasn't found by Grey's men," Emma chimed in.

"Then she must have ended up somewhere else," Gambit finished. "And her chain was right by the edge..."

"But why wouldn't Grey's people think of that?" Emma wanted to know.

Gambit looked pleased with himself. "Taking her in the car was the easy explanation, and they went for it. Like I said, Grey's got better things to worry about than Purdey."

Steed had hooked his brolly round Emma's forearm, and was also making the stretch, hand steadying the bowler all the while. When he was righted once more, he bestowed upon Gambit one of those infamous beams. "No bet," he said cheerfully, and Gambit grinned back. "Anyone up for a hike?"

"Mmm, downhill. Just the way I like them," Emma approved, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She swept an arm out in a grand gesture. "But it was your discovery, Mike. You first."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "Need something soft to land on if you lose your footing?"

"It can't hurt."

"Not you it won't," Gambit agreed, but the humour was recognised on all sides as a sign of optimism. Gambit took the first step, made certain he had his footing and didn't fall prey to the ball baring effect, then set off down the incline at a semi-controlled sprint. Emma loped after him, leaving Steed to bring up the rear.

Gambit's theory made sense, even if the evidence of a body making contact with the hill was long gone. From the grade, Gambit hypothesised that her descent would have been less than controlled—she'd rolled, and not in any particular direction. Just down. Down and away from the guns. And Pym. That made him feel much better, even as the branches tugged at his trousers. He could only imagine what Purdey must have felt. Her jacket had been left at the camp, so her arms would have had little to no protection. He winced as he surveyed the terrain. She'd suffered, no doubt. Cuts and bruises at best, something broken at worst. But Purdey was resilient, and it was better than being with Pym. Anything was. It was just a relief she'd gotten away. What he wanted to know was where she'd gone after that.

There was a small ledge near the bottom, with a short drop to the greenery below. Purdey's journey would have come to an abrupt end after she'd gone over, and Gambit mentally tallied the different ways that one could land, and how much damage was likely for each as he dropped down himself. Unless Purdey had gone head first, there was nothing life-threatening about the short bout with gravity, but he had a sneaking suspicion Purdey would be so sore that any impact at all would be unwelcome. The branches and such had probably broken her fall, though, he hypothesised, prodding some very damaged plant life with his boot. Broken branches in abundance, right around where she would have made impact. If it were him, Gambit knew he would have taken a moment to recover and check for serious injuries, and he was willing to bet Purdey would do the same before moving on. He glanced around the immediate area in search of some sign of where she'd have logically headed next, but nothing became apparent. It was sheltered here, but now that gravity wasn't providing a convenient route, there was no way of knowing where she'd gone from here. If she'd even ended up here to begin with.

Emma vaulted down beside him, landing like a cat and brushing the odd leaf from her shirt. Steed was close behind, and Gambit pointed out the branches.

"I suppose we could fan out, try different directions," he said to Emma, but she shook the auburn tresses in a 'no.'

"For how long? Miles and miles of jungle, and we've no idea where to stop. Needle in a haystack." She shot Steed a knowing look. "Metaphorically, of course."

"Of course," Steed agreed, wandering over to the densely grown in area to the right. His eyes alighted on a tangle of brush, and he prodded within with his brolly "She was definitely here, though," he informed.

Gambit frowned. "How do you know? I could be dead wrong."

"Oh, I don't know." Steed extracted his umbrella, with something dangling off the end. "I'd say it was fairly obvious."

Gambit blanched, and dashed over to snatch the cloth from the point. He examined it disbelievingly, turning it over in his hands. Emma peered over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow. "Are those her--?"

"Trousers," Gambit confirmed, looking completely bewildered. They could easily have come from the camo print he'd watched Purdey pack. It had been noticeably absent when they'd searched her room, so he knew what she was wearing at the very least. "Why would she get rid of her trousers? I mean, I've suggested it before, but this is a strange time to do it."

Emma crossed her arms, trying to look unamused. "She doesn't make a habit of it then?"

Gambit glanced at her, stricken. "No! Anyway, you're one to talk. Harem pants and that lot."

"I kept them on, though."

Gambit wasn't listening. "They've been shredded," he observed, holding them out at arm's length. "The tears on the legs could be from falling down the hill, but the waistband's been cut right through, and it's barely holding together round the thigh." He squinted at the frayed fabric, dirty and aromatic. "I'd say she was cut," he murmured quietly, and Steed leaned over to see. "That tear's wide enough and the fabric's been stretched around the entry point." He suddenly felt nauseated again, and thrust the garment into Emma's hands while he braced himself on his knees and tried not to be sick. "Oh, hell, I hope nothing predatory could smell the blood."

Steed took the trousers and examined them. "No, I don't think so. If Purdey was bleeding that badly, she would've tied it off with a piece of trouser leg, not shed the whole thing." He shook his head. "We're missing something. Something went on down here."

"But what?" Gambit asked angrily, feeling impossibly helpless. Here they had proof that Purdey had fallen over the ravine and likely taken damage, and yet they were just as far from finding her as ever. And the trousers frightened him as much as comforted. He was all too capable of coming up with explanations, but none of them ended happily for Purdey. "Where do we go from here?"

Emma and Steed exchanged glances. "Pym's," they said in unison.

Gambit frowned. "We just proved she wasn't taken."

"We proved she wasn't taken immediately," Emma clarified. "We have no way of knowing what happened after that. Presumably Pym knew she went this way, and if he was as bent on revenge as you say, he could have easily come here and caught up to Purdey. Particularly if she was injured. She may not have been able to run."

"Grey's people have been over the base already," Gambit reminded.

"And if they did as through a job as they did here, I'd say they were liable to miss something," Steed predicted. "We've no way of knowing where to go from here. It is a place to start."

Gambit sighed, seeing their logic only too well. There was no way he could comb the whole jungle himself. "Right," he said resignedly. "But we ought to wait for dark."

"Agreed." Steed turned and started back up the hill. "Bring the trousers."

***

It was quiet in their little camp as they waited for night to fall. Steed and Emma seemed to sense Gambit's need for quiet reflection, talking softly and steering clear of the trunk onto which Gambit had settled, turning the remains of the trousers over in his hands. Something about the way they had been cut didn't fit with Purdey's capture, or an act by the girl herself, but he was damned if he knew what it was. He preferred that line of thought, though—the one that left Purdey with a few more options. The idea of Pym catching up to her was less palatable, and made the nausea come back.

That told him something else. He'd been trying very, very hard to shut down the part of his mind prone to fear, or panic, or despair. He liked to think he was good at this somewhat dubious skill. It had kept him alive for three months in Africa, and he'd had plenty of opportunities for practice since his Ministry days. But now, of all times, he was having problems cordoning off the weak and staying with the strong, and he didn't know why. His first thought was that it was because Purdey's life was in danger, not his, and it was always easier to temper fear when you weren't dealing with the unknown, when you knew where you were, and what was going to happen. That meant you could move on and brace yourself. But Purdey had gone missing before. He'd done this. He'd worried. He'd feared. He'd done everything he could to find her. But she'd never been gone this long before. Granted, it was nothing like his three months, but that was the trade-off. He could cope with being helpless on his own for a long time, or a short time when it was someone else's life on the line. But Gambit didn't do well when he knew next to nothing, and had an even smaller opportunity to do something. That was why this was so hard. He'd spent his reserves over the past three weeks, just trying to keep sane enough to get this far. If it turned out his persistence was all for want, that he was defeated in his quest before he could start, the cracks in the shell he'd spent years rebuilding would widen, and spread, and before he knew it there would be people speaking in soothing voices, and removal from active duty, and a prescription or seven. And he wasn't sure he'd care. It had been hard after he was honourably discharged from the army, hard to reacquaint himself with society. The nightmares lasted for months, and still surfaced every November, much to his chagrin. But the hardest of all was letting people in.

It might have been easier if Gambit hadn't been burned so many times in his young life, let down by so many that were meant to nurture, not cut him down. It had started right from birth, with the father who didn't particularly wanted his son, his own experiences in the war leaving little more than a shadow of the former man. Then it had been his mother, a good woman, but torn between husband and child. The former won out, much to Gambit's disgust. He knew from a young age he wanted nothing more than to get out. It didn't matter how. Just out.

After Africa, and the army, it frightened him to think he might be on the same path, that he was destined to follow his father's example. It was easy to let family back in—his aunt, his uncle, their daughter. The relationships were familiar, forged. But Gambit wasn't up for anything new, anything too serious. It was all too easy to imagine how someone could let him down, or worse, for him to let someone else down. That worried him more than anything. No one deserved his mother's fate, to be dragged down by another. He didn't know how much he had to give.

And then there was Purdey.

Gambit had known, somehow, when the blonde had walked into his life that nothing would ever be the same again. That something was different about this woman who turned everything upside down, and, remarkably, made it work. She'd succeeded in healing the rift between him and Steed in a matter of days. He wasn't entirely certain when she started work on his own damages.

But that day last November, that day when, by her own admission, she'd climbed into an ice-cold shower to fish him out again, _that_ day, she'd held him together, sealed the cracks, made him feel whole for maybe the first time in his thirty-odd years on the planet. She'd put him together—she would be the one to break him apart.

And if they didn't find her, there'd be no one to pick up the pieces. He didn't think he could survive the second time...

_Come on, Purdey. I still haven't told you why I needed fixing. You wouldn't leave without knowing that..._

"Gambit?" It was Emma's voice, soft but penetrating. "The light's going. We need to head for the base before it's too dark."

Gambit blinked, realised that evening was threatening to turn to night. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed. "Right," he said, more to himself than Emma. "Let's get on with it."

***

The base was guarded, not surprisingly, by Grey's men. They patrolled the low wall that traced the perimeter with the gait of the weary. All the same, the trio of dark shapes kept to the shadows and hugged the trees while they engaged in silent conversation. Then they broke up and melted away, all while the nearest guard passed on by, oblivious to all but the well-worn path he had followed faithfully for nearly three weeks.

Half an hour later, the shadows convened once more, a short distance from the rhythmic footsteps, and compared notes on their reconnaissances.

"There's a gap every fifteen minutes," Emma informed. "On the northeast wall. One of the guards drags his feet, and the other is fast enough to loop him."

"There's a door on that wall, isn't there?" Steed's voice was thoughtful, and if it were day, Gambit knew he would see his face reflecting that mindset. "How long is the gap?"

"Less than a minute. Forty, forty-five seconds if we're lucky." Emma paused. "Enough time to get to the door."

"Right, but getting through's the problem," Gambit pointed out. "Picking the lock in forty-five seconds is a stretch even in decent light, and we're not going to be able to risk a torch with the guards around."

"We don't need to pick it," Steed declared, glancing at Emma's slim silhouette. "Not if someone opens it from the inside."

Gambit bit his lip. "I might be able to scale it. It's not too high, but the barbed wire at the top could make things messy."

"All the more reason to clear it entirely," Steed said with unconcern. "Don't you agree, Mrs. Peel?"

Gambit could sense Emma's lopsided grin, even in the dark. "I could try," she allowed. "Although it has been a few years..."

"Nonsense. I'm sure you've kept in practice," Steed assured. "As Gambit said, we won't have time for anything else."

"Either of you planning on clueing me in?" Gambit wanted to know, slightly annoyed at being left in the dark, both literally and metaphorically.

"Certainly," Steed said cheerfully. "Mrs. Peel has always been gifted in the art of perpendicular tennis."

Gambit made a face, even though he knew Steed couldn't see it. "Come again?"

"I'll take a flying leap," Emma told him. "Literally."

Gambit frowned. "Are you sure you can make it?" he asked doubtfully. "It's a bit of a stretch, and it's dark."

"No darker than last time," Emma said briskly.

"You've done this before?" Gambit's voice had a little hope in it now, and Emma smiled again.

"Yes," she confirmed. "And if we hurry we might make the next window."

***

Emma eyed up the fence. It was no higher than the hedge at PURRR, although that hadn't been lined with barbed wire at the top. And she'd been ten years younger. She hadn't told Gambit that part for a reason. There were enough doubts between the pair of them as it was. No time for that now. She swallowed her uncertainty and focussed on her timing. The guard had just rounded the corner out of sight. The window was open and narrowing fast.

"Now!" Gambit hissed, over her right shoulder. "Quick!"

"Heigh ho," she sighed, flicking auburn locks over her shoulder. "Over the top."

She broke into a sprint, left the ground, and soared gracefully over the fence to the safety of the other side. Gambit's jaw dropped. He gaped at the spot where she'd gone over, and tried to convince himself that what he'd just seen was real. As much as he admired Emma, he wasn't convinced that anyone outside an Olympic high jumper would clear the top. He shook his head in disbelief, looking to Steed as they broke cover and made for the door.

"It's not fair," he muttered to the senior agent. "One man, and all these fantastic women. There ought to be a quota."

"I have been rather lucky," Steed allowed, although his smile undercut his false modesty.

"You must have been born with it," Gambit muttered.

"Oh, you're not doing too badly yourself," Steed reminded. "And Purdey's certainly remarkable."

Gambit laughed. "I noticed. Let's hope Emma didn't break an ankle when she went over."

But the door swung open just before the next guard happened by, and by the time he, too, had rounded the corner, the trio was on its way to the building itself, eyes peeled as they silently searched the grounds for further security, but it appeared that inside the base was uninhabited.

The building was squat and blocky, but not much else could be discerned in the dark, and not as expansive as Gambit had imagined. Despite the lack of life, Emma's penlight was all they risked while Steed worked the lock on the door, and even then Gambit blocked the beam as much as possible with his body.

The door opened into an unadorned corridor with bare walls and floor. Pym clearly hadn't concerned himself with aesthetics. The only point of interest was the two strips of tape cordoning off a section of the corridor straight ahead. They made their way over and stopped just short. Emma ran a fingertip along the plastic, shiny in the torchlight. "Scene of the crime?"

"One of several, I'd hazard," Steed murmured, bending to inspect the wall at its base. "There's a sensor of some sort down this side, just past the tape. Gambit?"

"There's one on my end, too," the younger man confirmed, straightening up. "Booby-trapped?"

"Extra security," Steed concurred. "I wonder..." He tentatively prodded the floor on the other side of the barrier with his brolly, then drew it back hurriedly when the whole floor gave way. A garden of shiny steel spikes was briefly revealed before the floor reassumed its position. Emma arched an eyebrow.

"Someone's been watching too many Bond films."

Steed tsked unconcernedly. "I wonder who discovered it."

"Shame no one asked Grey down to look it over first," Gambit muttered.

"Regardless, all in favour of taking the scenic route?" Steed wanted to know.

"I'd say that was scenic enough," Emma countered, "but there's an offshoot back that way. Everything ought to connect in the end." She turned and set back the way they came. Gambit and Steed eyed the trap for a moment longer.

"Anti-social," Steed murmured, and then made after her.

The corridor did lead to rest of the base as it happened. Most of the rooms had been stripped and packed up for transport to London, where Pym's files and other belongings would be examined in detail. That effectively left a few large areas, filled with boxes, through which to search. Gambit regarded the seemingly mile-high stacks with dismay.

"How are we going to find anything in this lot?" he asked in despair.

"Pym did keep an awful lot in the way of records," Emma agreed. "For blackmail, perhaps?"

"It'll provide endless reading material for MI12," Steed pointed out. "Grey's assured a post for awhile yet. But someone must have put them in some sort of order. Check the top for the recent pages. Anything related to Purdey is certain to be there. Unless she has her own box."

"Heigh ho," Emma said resignedly, and lifted the top off her first. Gambit sighed, and squared his shoulders. A chance was a chance, and anything that might possibly lead them to Purdey was worth slogging through a mountain of boxes. And to think he enjoyed browsing through the files back at home. Steed had already laid claim to a stack near the door, as much to keep watch as anything, and followed his example, plunging into the darker depths near the back of the room, torch in hand.

Three hours later, Gambit couldn't help but be in awe of Pym, as he had of Juventor, despite his anger at the man for taking his revenge on Bryde father and daughter. The man really had a nice little operation going on, with fingers in businesses legitimate and otherwise the world over, and enough intelligence passing through his hands to set up his agency. And all while he sat, safely tucked away in Brazil, out of sight and reach of the authorities. More than ten years, now, since Jonathan Bryde had failed where Grey had attempted to succeed. After all, despite seizing the base, there was no sign of Pym, and Gambit suspected the man could easily start over. Presumably he had cash stowed the world over, and enough connections to find him another hideaway that wouldn't come with questions. This was a minor setback, nothing bigger than what Bryde had forced him to before. If Grey pushed the way Bryde had, Gambit half-hoped MI12 man's quest for glory would lead him to a similar stand-off that Purdey's father had endured. Maybe his dealings would look less clever from the wrong end of a gun barrel…

Mike snapped out of his dark train of thought as a loud bang echoed through the hollow chamber. He was on his feet, gun drawn, before Emma's rueful smile peered round a stack of boxes, even in the dim light urging him to relax. "My fault," she told him, indicating a fallen box and the pages that had skidded from within onto the cold concrete.

Gambit returned his gun to its holster, and moved to help her gather up the sheets. "We'll need to put them back in order," he pointed out, but Steed was already prodding about thoughtfully with his brolly.

"There's no need," he said simply, bending to pick up a single _feuille._ "They're blank. All of them."

"All?" Gambit dropped into a crouch, and sifted through himself, but Steed was right. The box had contained nothing but blank sheets. Emma was gathering them up regardless. "Pym must do a lot of correspondence."

"Presumably," Emma agreed, turning the box upright and stashing her first wad of sheets inside as neatly as possible. "That's the third box of blank paper I've come across. Not so much as a watermark."

"That makes two of us," Steed put in, aiding the pair of them.

"Three," Gambit told them, recalling a pair of similarly uninteresting crates. "Do you think it's significant?"

"It is odd," Steed murmured thoughtfully. "Why Grey's men would go to the trouble of boxing up unused stationary...but I suppose everything must go."

"Mmm." Emma returned the last of the sheets. "Never mind. I found something much more interesting before gravity stepped in." She rose and strode over to the box she had been busily rifling through. "I think," she began, as Gambit and Steed retrieved their torches and moved to join her, "I've found the 'Purdey box.'"

"What?" Gambit's exclamation was hushed by his companions. "Why didn't you say so?" he asked in a quieter voice. "What's in it?"

"Well, there's good news and bad news," Emma told them, flipping through the pages. "The good news is everything relating to Purdey, and her father, seems to have made its way here, and there's no record of her ever spending time on this base."

"And Pym did keep records," Steed broke in. "Several. Very detailed. I've found more than my share."

Emma nodded. "So did I. That means that, wherever Purdey went after falling down the hill, it wasn't here. And Grey's reports state Pym was holed up after here after the attack, before he was forced to evacuate. Purdey's records would be with the rest."

"Good," Gambit said with relief, then remembered Emma's words. "What's the bad news?"

Emma shrugged resignedly. "There's nothing here to indicate where Purdey may have gone, where Pym thought she ended up, if he even considered it. We do have this." She extracted a single sheet, held it up to the light. "Purdey's flight list. We can connect Grey having her real name recorded with Pym discovering she was here. And there's ample evidence of his hatred for Jonathan Bryde, but there's nothing to help us find Purdey."

"So, back to square one. With nothing to go on," Gambit said quietly, feeling his shoulders slump.

Emma met Steed's eyes. "Not quite," she contradicted. "There's still someone we can see."

"If Pym didn't find her, and Grey didn't, who's left?" Gambit wanted to know.

"Peter's friends," Emma reminded. "The tribe. I did tell you they wouldn't trust either set easily. It's possible they held something back."

Hope flashed in Gambit's eyes. "And they'll tell you?"

Emma grinned. "Wouldn't you?"

"I would and have," Gambit reminded, and Emma was about to answer when Steed shushed her quiet.

"Did you hear that?" he queried, and Emma and Gambit perked up their ears immediately. There was a moment of silence, then a soft sound, almost imperceptible. Like a footstep.

Without speaking, the trio immediately switched off their torches, plunging the room into a grey, almost cloudy, darkness, full of convenient places to hide. They made use of them quickly, melting into the shadows. A few seconds later the first torchlight pierced the fugue, and was quickly followed by an armed guard, gun held out in front with one hand, radio in the other. He panned it over the boxes, settled the beam on the unpacked files concerning Purdey. The remains of Steed's search were the next focus. Gambit's were too far back to be seen without coming closer, and Gambit was glad for it, considering his tenuous position secreted behind one of the taller stacks. A few inches to the left, and he knew the guard would notice his silhouette. The man himself seemed uninterested in venturing further without help, though. Already raising the radio to his lips, Gambit cursed internally at the idea of reinforcements.

As it was, the guard never had a chance to make the call. One boot-clad foot darted out of the gloom and made contact with the hand holding the radio, sending it skidding across the floor. The guard wheeled round to confront the attack, gun at the ready, but another figure had approached from the other side, wielding a hook that jerked his gun from his hand, before bringing a familiar steel crown down own his head with a resonant "clang." The first attacker delivered the coup de grace, and double-handed chop on the man's neck, and he sank to the floor without a sound. Gambit stepped out of hiding and approached the victorious Steed and Peel, er, _Knight_. Their body language told him they were satisfied with the result, and despite the dark, they were looking at each other. Gambit grinned and picked up the radio.

"I didn't know you went in for party tricks," he quipped, and Emma's head cocked quizzically.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind," Gambit murmured, knowing Purdey would have likely beat him to the punch in seeing the humour, even if it would have been of the ironic variety. After all, Purdey and Gambit's so-called "originality" in the coordinated attack had been practiced by the experts for years. He listened to the frantic squawking over the radio, shook his head. "They've alerted the whole base. Someone heard the box go."

"Then we had better be going," Steed declared, stepping over his fallen victim and heading out the door. "This way I think."

"That takes us back to the trap," Emma reminded, following Steed regardless. "And they'll be sending in the cavalry any minute now."

Steed smiled. "Exactly."


	16. From the Heavens

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, a fresh chapter, just in time for Patrick Macnee's birthday. He'll be 87 as of February 6. Happy Birthday, Patrick!

It'll also be Gareth Hunt's birthday on the 7th. He would have been 67. Rest in peace, Gareth. You are sorely missed.

Anyway, as promised, there is a fairly major development this chapter, but by no means does it signal that the end of the fic is nigh. There are still a few chapters to go yet. Keep an eye open for a cameo by another familiar face this time around. And, as always, stay tuned...

* * *

A few short minutes later, the cavalry arrived, scanning the empty entrance corridor before sweeping out into the various branch corridors to search the rooms, paying no heed to the obvious dead end presented by the trap. Only when all the footsteps had faded did the voice emanate from the crack in the floor, and the hook wedged inside it.

"How are you holding up, Mrs. Peel?"

"Well," Emma considered, shifting as she did so. "Holding down might be a better description. Mike, I don't know how much longer your belt can take the load."

"It doesn't have to," Gambit grunted, rearranging his grip round Steed's waist. "They've gone, haven't they?"

"They have," Steed confirmed. "Mrs. Peel, if you'd be so kind as to open the gates?"

"Certainly." Emma swung her legs up from where she'd let her feet rest ever-so-slightly on the spikes below. She braced one leg against the wall of the pit and used it to push up so she could grab Gambit's shoulder. Using Mike, from whom she'd been dangling, and Steed, who had been Gambit's source of support, she was able to climb a human ladder to the top of the trap and, start prying at the crack that Steed's brolly handle, enforced by the steel within, had created while they dangled from its shaft. They'd been counting on the guards missing the handle in the dark, and they had. Now, as Emma prised back the floor for an opening, she wriggled through and found herself on solid ground before turning to help Gambit, then Steed, out of their unlikely sanctuary. The panel slid shut soundlessly behind them, but they were already on the move, padding down the corridor toward the exit. Freedom.

There was a single guard manning the door, on the off chance that the intruders tried to double back. This had been deemed unlikely. There was only one way out, and no one could make use of it without running into the people coming in. As it was, he was surprised when two figures melted out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender. The guard quickly readied his gun, squinting at what appeared to be the silhouettes of a man and a woman. "Hold it!" He waved the gun menacingly. "Not one move while I radio in. Got it? Not one. We haven't been ordered to keep you lot alive." His eyes stayed on his captives even as his hand reached for the radio clipped to his belt. Neither was moving. On the contrary, they seemed to be waiting, almost expectantly, for something to happen. There was something wrong here. He could feel it. The sooner he radioed the better.

He unclipped the device, and dropped it almost immediately. A sharp pain was shooting from his neck and into his brain, threatening to block out all thought, all sense, everything save for an increasingly welcoming blackness. He dropped his gun, groped blindly for his attacker, felt a shoulder and maybe a shirt collar, but the man behind him simply wrapped his arm across his chest and neck, pinning his hand and rendering it immobile. The last thing the guard saw was the two figures approaching. Then the darkness won. He slipped to the ground without a sound.

Emma regarded Gambit's handiwork with mild admiration. "That's a neat trick."

"Just a matter of pressure at the right point," Gambit demurred, bending to retrieve both gun and radio and toss them into the nearest bush. He grinned, even though it was impossible to see in the dark. "You're very good at surrendering."

"It not the first time," Emma said dryly. "Although I like to think of it as biding my time. Optimism helps in this line of work."

Gambit smirked. "You must have been the most upbeat person in the whole department."

Steed was surveying the open landscape with concern. "We'll likely be spotted," he murmured, cutting Gambit and Emma's banter short.

"Can't we leave the same way came?" Gambit wanted to know.

Steed shook his head. "Too far. We'd never make it. There is a nearer entrance to the East, but it's a risk either way."

"It'll be riskier if we linger," Emma pointed out. "We've got a chance as long as they think we're still inside. The instant someone radios in, they'll send out the dogs. The closer way is our best option."

"What about the guard?" Gambit reminded.

Emma cocked her head at the fallen body. "This one didn't pose much of a problem. I'm going. If you want to take up permanent residence, that's your prerogative. Don't forget to write." She took off toward the fence, leaving Steed and Gambit no choice but to follow.

They nearly made it, too, before the searchlight flipped on, bathing the grounds in an otherworldly white light that threatened to blind and disorient them. Emma found the doorhandle based on memory, luck, and pure instinct, eyes screwed up against the glare that was quickly sweeping their way. She yanked it open, trusting that Gambit and Steed would follow. As it turned out, it worked in their favour. The guard that wheeled around at the shriek of unoiled hinges was just as blinded by the light as she was, and as a consequencet Emma's fist made contact before he got such much as a glimpse of his attacker. Emma didn't stop to survey her handiwork. She just ran, letting her legs and the adrenaline power her along, into the jungle, blind as a bat, but every other sense tingling, alive and exhilarated. No business merger could replicate this, this raw high of dancing the fine line between life and death. She'd missed it all these years. For the first time since she'd left 3 Stable Mews, left Steed, she was _the_ Emma Peel again.

She didn't want to rest, but inevitably her nervous system came down from emergency mode, and she found herself leaning against a tree, breathing hard. A minute or so later there was a rustle and Steed and Gambit joined her, puffing impressively. Gambit braced his hands against his knees and waited for the stitch in his side to let up. "Bloody hell," he panted. "You could give Purdey a run for her money in a foot race."

"Just the right motivation," Emma gasped modestly. "I was in better shape when I was with Steed."

"Oh, I don't know," that worthy replied, a smile in the voice. "But I think we lost them. All the same, we'll lie low for a day, just in case they come looking. We'll visit Mrs. Peel's friends tomorrow."

Gambit nodded, forcing his breathing to slow down. "We'd better keep moving, then. Someone's going to bring out vehicles soon, and if we're not back at the camp..."

"Agreed," Steed broke in, striding off in the right direction and letting Emma and Gambit fall in behind.

"Do you Grey will suspect it was us?" Mike asked after ten minutes of hiking, partly to take his mind off the lactic acid build-up in his legs.

"Indubitably," Steed confirmed cheerfully.

"Won't that be a problem?" Gambit prodded, although he could feel Steed's confidence vibrating off the man in the still night.

"I don't think so," Steed said unconcernedly. "I took the liberty of creating an alibi. I don't think Grey will get far."

***

Julian Grey stormed down the Ministry corridors, Morse transcript in hand. "Three people," it said. "Caught in Pym's base last night, 0300 hours, reading files. Bryde, Purdey's among them."

It had to be Steed and Gambit. He could feel it. He knew it was too good to be true when the pair had filed their request for joint leave. They were in Brazil, and they were mucking about in _his_ territory.

He burst into McKay's office without bothering to knock, much to the chagrin of the older man. He glared at Grey over the top of his reading glasses before removing them to fix his unencumbered stare on the enemy.

"Come in, why don't you?"

Grey ignored the sarcasm, choosing instead to slap the piece of paper down on his desk. "Read it."

McKay glared again, but put the glasses back on to do just that. A minute later he glanced up at the fuming MI12 man.

"Had a spot of bother, have you? What do you want me to do about it?"

"Call them off," Grey demanded.

"Who?"

"Steed and Gambit. Don't play games with me, McKay. We both know Gambit and Steed went after Purdey. They only filed leave so they could act outside of Ministry jurisdiction."

McKay snorted. "The report's hardly conclusive, Grey. No one got a good look at your intruders. Anyone would kill for the sort of intel Pym's accumulated. Besides, there were three of them. Don't tell me you think Steed and Gambit would risk hiring a third party to help them with their dirty work, someone who'd turn around and sell them out in a heartbeat?" He tsked and shook his head. "Grasping at straws. I can see why your department's failing."

"I'm not the one who's being unprofessional, here, McKay. If Steed and Gambit aren't in Brazil, where are they then?"

McKay regarded him blankly. "Canada," he said simply.

Grey's face distorted in disbelief. "_Canada_?" Grey exclaimed, redfaced. "What the devil are they doing there?"

"Taking leave," McKay replied, unmoved. He rifled through some papers and produced a piece of pasteboard. "They left a contact number if you're interested..."

"You're damn right I'm interested!" Grey snapped, snatching the offered card. "This had better not be a wind-up, or I'll have your whole department under observation." He turned on his heel and stormed out. McKay shook his head and went back to reading.

***

Tara King answered the ringing orange phone, perched herself on the edge of her desk. She'd been expecting a call on this line for a few days now, and she was ready. Steed had obviously been busy.

"Hello?" she said in her best Canadian accent.

"Tara King, please," the man on the other end said curtly, not even bothering to introduce himself. It didn't matter. Tara knew who it was. "It's urgent."

"One moment, please." Tara covered the mouthpiece and hummed half a dozen lines of "Hot Sand" by the Shocking Blue, brushed a hint of dust off the toe of her leather boot, and examined her fingernails just long enough to annoy the man on the other end. Only then did she speak into the receiver in her own British tones.

"Tara King."

"Miss King? It's imperative that I speak to either Mike Gambit or John Steed as soon as possible."

Tara drew in a breath through her teeth apologetically. "Sorry, we're just about to go to lunch. Aren't we Steed?" She reached over to a reel-to-reel tape recorder and hit 'play.' "That's right, Miss King," Steed's voice said cheerily, sounding exactly as if he were in the room with her. Tara grinned and switched it off again.

"I'm afraid the reservations won't wait. I'll have him ring you back just as soon as it's convenient. All right?"

"But you haven't even taken my name--!"

"Ta-ra!" she said cheerfully, and hung up.

***

It was late afternoon by the time Emma shook Gambit awake. Or half-awake. He swatted at her hand half-heartedly, and tried to turn over. "Five more minutes."

"That's what you said five hours ago," Emma said wryly, "when we had lunch."

"Lunch?" Gambit mumbled, and opened an eye only to shut it again against the dim light shining into his tent. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to five. In the afternoon," Emma informed, already heading outside. "You've been up worrying." It was a statement, not a question.

Gambit staggered upright to follow, banged his head on a tentpole and was muttering darkly by the time he joined Steed and Emma and accepted the now-cold remains of lunch. "Damned brain won't shut off," he said by way of explanation. "Why didn't you get me up earlier?"

"You looked like you needed it," Emma said simply. "A comb wouldn't go amiss, either." She exchanged knowing glances with Steed, and Gambit, distinctly uncomfortable, ran a hand through his hair with the self-consciousness of a teenager with bedhead. "And now that you're all rested up, you can take the next watch."

"Ah, the truth comes out," Gambit murmured, taking a plate and helping himself to breakfast/lunch/dinner/whatever meal it was. "Anything interesting happen while I was out of action?"

"I took a little sojourn," Steed offered. "Grey's people were out looking, but they didn't come quite far enough this way. Still, no sense in taking chances. Keep on the alert."

"Right," Gambit agreed, setting down his plate and automatically checking his gun. "Does that mean we're still on for tomorrow?"

"We are," Steed confirmed. "As soon as we've both had a rest." Emma was already retreating to her tent, and Steed paused to give the younger man one last word of encouragement.

"I'm sure Mrs. Peel's contacts will have a lead of some sort," he reassured. "I doubt much goes on here that they don't know about."

"I hope you're right," Gambit sighed. "I don't know where we'll go if it's another dead end."

"Wherever we have to," Steed said firmly. "I promise you."

_That_ made Gambit feel better.

***

They set out late in the afternoon the next day, when everyone had caught up on their sleep, and the last of Grey's men seemed to have given up their search. Emma knew the way, but no one could deny that a vehicle would've been preferable to travelling everywhere on foot. But vehicles were loud and noisy and left an easy-to-track trail in their wake, and they couldn't risk that, less so after the night before. As it was, it wasn't too long a journey, but Gambit's feet and legs were starting to feel the strain. He smiled ruefully. He'd done treks like this in Africa on a regular basis, but most assignments didn't devolve into long hikes—the one preceding the discovery of the blue periwinkle excepted. With everything else going on, at the very least he'd keep fit.

They stopped at the village perimeter, and Emma warned them to let her go first do the talking, just in case the natives mistook their visitors for someone unpleasant and retaliated with something just as unpleasant, if not more so, in return.

"Maybe you ought to warm the crowd up first. I think I'll take a sweep of the surrounding area," Gambit announced, checking his gun proactively. "Purdey could have found her way to the village for help and hung back on the outskirts if Grey's men were about. Could be a chance I'll find something."

"As long as you keep in contact," Steed allowed, looking mildly concerned. "And you can find your way back. Another missing person is the last thing we need."

Gambit smirked, returning his gun to the holster at his hip. "I think I'll be all right," he said, not a little cockily. "I'll meet you in the village in an hour."

Steed nodded curtly, knowing that Gambit needed to feel useful. Standing by waiting for Emma's translation would do nothing for his restlessness. "Agreed."

Gambit saluted jauntily, and strode off into the greenery, eventually disappearing from sight. Steed and Emma were left to travel the rest of the way to the camp.

"He reminds me of you, you know. A little," Emma said after a moment, turning her head to search Steed's face, gauging his reaction. There was a trace of melancholy on the normally unflappable features.

"Ah, moved on to the new and improved version, have we?" he said conversationally, not daring to meet her eyes.

Emma chuckled. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the original. But there's nothing wrong with keeping both editions in circulation, either. For different reasons, of course." She smiled enchantingly, and Steed smiled back.

"Of course."

A shout in the distance shattered the moment, and Steed and Emma had barely exchanged glances before creeping off into the undergrowth toward the source of the sound. They eventually located a small pod of Grey's men—four in total, just in time to see them converge on their vehicle and drive off in the direction that Steed, Emma, and Gambit from which had come.

"If they find the camp," Emma said grimly, "we'll be taking lodging with Peter's friends."

"And they'll strengthen the search effort," Steed added. "Not unless we can derail them."

Emma nodded. "Right, I'll go."

Steed laid a hand on her arm. "We need you here."

"You need an introduction, that's all," Emma disagreed. "Look, I'll accompany you to the village, let them know they can trust the pair of you, and then check on the camp. That way we'll know if there's another nasty surprise like the tiger trap." She held up a hand to quell Steed's protests. "It's better if I go. They're looking for you. If they see me, you'll be in the clear back home."

"And if they catch you?" Steed was concerned, and Emma knew his worry was not going to be banished easily.

"On the off-chance that they manage," she said jauntily, "there's no law against visiting Brazil. They know as well as you do that I've a history here. Besides, I'm entitled to as much skulking around as I can get. The paperwork at home won't be abating anytime soon."

Steed sighed. "I'll radio Gambit to be on the lookout," he conceded to the warm brown eyes. "Although I'm afraid my Portuguese may be a bit rusty."

"Nonsense," Emma said, patting him on the shoulder. "You speak the international language of charm. You'll be perfectly all right. Now." She straightened up and gestured in the direction of the village. "Shall we?"

Steed followed suit, hooked her arm with his. "Of course, Mrs. Peel."

***

Gambit made a slow, circular trek of the village perimeter, taking his bearings while keeping both eyes open for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that would give him even the slightest reason to hope for Purdey's safe return. It was funny how all the old instincts, the old tricks, came bubbling to the surface, even after all these years. Naturally, the Amazon was a completely different environment from the locales that had been his base in Africa. But in some ways, the rules never changed, jungle or otherwise, and whatever else he had to say about his days on that other continent, they had taught him how to survive just about anywhere he might find himself, to the point that these unfamiliar climes didn't worry him as much as what he'd find. Or wouldn't find. Gambit knew where he stood with nature. It was the people one had to watch out for.

It was strange, really, the parallels that had revealed themselves to him since the start of this whole accursed business, the ones between Purdey and himself. Both recruited while under the mistaken impression that their task was something other than what it would ultimately become. Both sent out into the wilds of another world, lost, betrayed, led astray. And both, maybe, captured. Gambit hoped it hadn't come to that, that Purdey's life hadn't gone on to mirror some of the darker parts of his own. A few images of a hellish three months flashed in his mind's eye, but he shook them away. He'd spent too long contemplating what could be happening to Purdey. Now that he was actually in the position to do something about it, he meant to take full advantage of it. He paused in a clearing, let his eyes rove over the surrounding foliage.

That was when he noticed.

There had been sounds earlier, birds and things that had started chirping as he passed, adding their own calls to the lush background medley that most people tuned out after awhile. But Gambit wasn't most people, and now there was nothing. Silence hung heavily in this clearing, and Gambit knew better than to ignore the clues provided by the local wildlife. It was as if everything that could possibly be disturbed by a human crashing through its habitat had already been frightened away in anticipation of his arrival. As if someone had made it here before him. And had yet to move on. Now that he wasn't moving, he could feel it.

Someone was watching.

Gambit resisted the urge to snatch his gun straight from the holster, but that would only make the decision for whoever had his eyes on him to pull the trigger, if he was armed. _Or they. There could easily be more than one._ Trying to outdraw them would be tantamount to suicide. Gambit kept his hand close to the holster, but didn't rest his hand on it the way he wanted to. Instead, he started to circle, eyes and ears straining for any sound, any figure lurking in the shadows.

***

Purdey watched the man creep about wearily, circling the clearing with a practiced, stealthy gait. He knew he was being watched. She'd have to time this perfectly. Otherwise he'd look up in time to draw his gun.

The man's circle was bringing him toward her tree, below her perch on a branch a good eight feet off the ground. Purdey wished the foliage wasn't obscuring her vision—she couldn't see the man's face so as to identify him. He was tall and slim, and the hair was dark, but that was as much as she could discern without breaking cover, and she wasn't prepared to do so, not until she was certain she could win in a confrontation. There were too many people looking for her with less than admirable intentions. Perhaps he was one of Pym's minions. But he was a professional, that much was certain. And he knew his way around the Amazon, how to survive—his gear told her that much. She'd have to get the drop on him before she saw his face.

She only wished she felt a little more confident in her abilities. She knew she still wasn't fully recovered from her ordeal, and that worried her. The thigh throbbed on and off, and her side was protesting against her uncomfortable position on the branch. She needed to time this perfectly. Otherwise she was dead.

Just a bit closer…He was almost directly below her, head swivelling to scan the area around him. Purdey tightened her grip on her knife. Now…

***

Gambit was almost finished his circuit, ready to chalk the niggling feeling in the back of his mind down to paranoia, when suddenly the branches above him shook and someone dropped from the heavens onto his shoulders. Gambit reached for his gun, but his opponent was too fast, knocking his hand away, and forcing him forward onto the forest floor. From his knees, Gambit saw a knife sweep around from behind, arching toward his throat. He elbowed the person in the stomach and rolled away, clawing for his gun as he did so. He ended up on his back, managed to tug the weapon free of its holster, but his attacker was mind-bogglingly quick, and was on him instantly, knife pricking his Adam's apple just as he brought the gun around to point at the forehead. Despite that advantage, he froze, feeling the knife's blade all too keenly. If he so much as breathed wrong…But the gun was a deterrent, and the other person was clearly taking the weapon into consideration. It was a stand-off.

Gambit, trying hard to ease his laboured breathing, finally got a good look at his attacker, to look him in the eyes. Only there weren't any. The person straddling him was slim, and, to his surprise, was in possession of a mop of light hair. Blonde, in fact. The way the hair had grown into the eyes, he was surprised she could see at all. But the way the hair looked now, shaggy but short, it certainly looked as though it could have once been a mushroom bob, before nearly a month's worth of growth set in. He felt his heart leap, ever so slightly, let his eyes take in the parts of the face that weren't obscured by the flaxen crown. The neat nose. And the lips. Those full, soft lips that he hadn't felt against his own nearly as often as he would have liked. He'd know them anywhere. But the eyes were the real clincher. If he only he could see them…

"Purdey?" he asked tentatively, not sure he wanted to get his hopes up so early on in the search. "Purdey?" he repeated, carefully. "Is that you?"

The knife was trembling now, held a little away from his neck, but not enough to let him sit up. But the lips had parted, and even without the eyes he could see that she was taken aback. Gambit reached a hand up regardless of the weapon, found his hand unobstructed as he touched the bangs, pushed them back from the face to reveal a pair of bright blue eyes. Those eyes. Large and clear. Never had he seen a pair to rival them. He'd know their owner anywhere. "Purdey!" he exclaimed, taking in her whole face for the first time. His gun slipped from his fingers, and he grasped her shoulders. "Purdey-girl, I've found you!" This was wonderful. Fantastic. Here she was, that brilliant, wicked smile spreading across her face, even as he felt his eyes fill with tears.

"Mike Gambit, you do get around, don't you? And here I thought I'd just gotten rid of you." The cut glass tones were music to his ears. He'd been afraid he'd never hear them again. He fell into the banter gratefully.

"You know me," he replied. "Just passing through. Thought I'd look you up." His eyes moved skywards meaningfully. Purdey chuckled at the bad pun.

"Well, you found me. Or I found you, really. I've been tracking you for the past half hour."

"I'm not going to argue over credit, so I'll settle for you putting that thing away." He pointed at the knife still aimed at his throat.

Purdey blinked. "Sorry," she apologised, sitting back from where she'd sprawled on top of him and sheathing it at her belt. Gambit eased into a sitting position, and stared at her for a moment, as if trying to convince himself that she was real. She stared back, mind whirring away at what to say after dropping off the face of the planet for the past three weeks. She didn't have to bother, as it happened, because Gambit suddenly caught her up in a fierce hug, holding her tight, as though he were afraid that if he loosened his grip she would fade into nothingness. It took her a moment, but she eventually realised that he was saying her name over and over, so softly she could barely hear him.

"Oh, Purdey, Purdey, Purdey, I thought I'd lost you," he murmured into her hair, and now she noticed the catch in his voice, wondered if above her head he was finally letting the tears spill. "You've been gone so long. I wasn't sure there was anything left to search for."

"You're not going to get rid of me that easily," she murmured, but Gambit made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

"Don't even say that," he whispered, pulling her a little closer. Purdey found herself buried in jacket, and inhaled. Gambit was her first sniff of home in what felt like forever, and it was by no means the worst way to be welcomed back. She was ready to return the favour, when Gambit unknowingly applied pressure to her injured rib, and she winced involuntarily. Gambit heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her jerk in his arms, and disentangled himself to hold her at arm's length.

"What's wrong?" he asked with concern etched across his face. "Damn, did I hurt you in the fight? I shouldn't have elbowed you—"

"No, no," Purdey demurred, clutching her injured side. "I cracked a rib not long after I got here. It's still a bit sore."

"I should have known you'd be hurt," Gambit chastised himself. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking. Any other damage I should know about?" Aside from the unruly bob, her face had picked up a healthy tan. She looked tired, though. And a little drawn, but after the past few weeks, Gambit could relate. The eyes were bright, regardless, a good sign that her spirit was intact, and the worst of his fears hadn't been realised. His eyes came to rest on the mostly healed gash across her clavicle, right where the chain should have hung. That explained the blood. They hadn't cut her throat after all. He said a silent prayer of thanks. She was here, and she was alive. He couldn't ask for more. "You look pretty healthy," he told her. "And you're still in good shape," he added with a glance at one of Purdey's shapely thighs, poking from beneath her skirt.

"You look like you've seen better days," Purdey commented. She'd been giving her partner a similar once-over, and suddenly had a very good indicator of how he'd weathered the past few weeks. She took in Gambit's tired, worn features. The face was drawn and pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His body was only now draining up with days of pent-up tension, and she wasn't entirely certain that he hadn't lost weight. For every hour that she'd slept, it looked as though he'd been cursed with the worst insomnia to be visited upon the sleepless. "You're halfway to comatose."

"Yeah, well, I haven't slept much," Gambit confided, not even rising to the jab. "I was starting to think you weren't coming back."

Purdey scrunched up her face. "Mike Gambit, you know me better than that. You must have at least considered that I got out all right."

"You don't want to know what I thought," Gambit muttered cryptically. "My nightmares would give you nightmares."

Purdey didn't doubt that. She put a hand on his shoulder and kneaded the knots of tension she found there. "They didn't come true," she assured.

Gambit looked relieved. "No one caught you? You haven't had anything..." He trailed off looking for the best euphemism. "Done to you?" he finished lamely.

"Nothing along those lines," Purdey replied cryptically, rubbing her thigh, the concealed one, absently.

"Thank goodness," Gambit murmured. "But if you don't mind me asking, where the devil have you been? I know things got a bit hairy, but it would've put a lot of minds at ease if you just sent a postcard on, let someone know you were taking an extended vacation."

"I've hardly been on vacation, Gambit," Purdey retorted, getting to her feet from where she was straddling Gambit's legs. "You know about the ambush?"

"That's about all I do know," Gambit replied, standing as he did so. "Grieve filled us in. She was supposed to keep an eye on you, but she lost you in the confusion, and the last anyone saw of you, Pym's minions were dragging you off." He pursed his lips angrily. "You were bait. Grey set you up to draw Pym out into the open. The whole damn thing was a charade."

"Yes, I'd gotten that far on my own," Purdey said coldly, but the ice wasn't directed at him. "Pym killed my father, and he intends to have a repeat performance."

Gambit blanched. "You know Pym killed your father?"

Purdey laughed mirthlessly. "It wasn't exactly a secret once he had the knife to my throat and started prattling on about how he wished he hadn't had to kill the first Bryde from a distance."

Gambit swallowed hard. "I assume that's where you got the, uh." He drew his finger across his throat, and Purdey touched the wound absently.

"Yes," she confirmed quietly. "I think he would've made it a little deeper if someone from the camp hadn't gotten a lucky shot off and killed one of his men. As it was, I ended up going downhill the quick way. Pym had his knife through the chain, though, and it was cut off. I've been back, but there's no sign of it."

Gambit smiled. "I can help you there," he revealed, digging in his pocket for the envelope and tipping the contents into his palm Purdey peered in at the glittering contents, eyes widening in disbelief. Gambit watched her happily, glad to be the one to reunite her with this piece of her past. "Look familiar?"

"Mike Gambit," she breathed, taking it with trembling fingers and holding it up to the light. "And it's been repaired."

"Yes, well, Steed knew a fellow, and we had him do a rush job. Cleaned the blood off first, though. Thought that'd raise a few more questions than I could answer."

Purdey was already fumbling with the catch, gave up in futility. "Here," she offered, holding it out to him. "You do it."

Gambit took the fine links, found himself faced with the elegant nape of Purdey's neck, felt his pulse quicken ever so slightly as his fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulders as he brought his hands around to let the chain encircle her neck. Somehow he managed to do the clasp up himself, and Purdey was suddenly facing him again, fingering it lovingly.

"Where did you find it?" she wanted to know.

"Chap from the clean-up team brought it back," Gambit told her. "But that still doesn't explain where you've been hiding all this time. If you were that close to the ambush site you should have been near dozens of Grey's people. Anyone of them would have gotten you home."

Purdey smiled tiredly. "You're assuming I've had the ability to do just that."

Gambit frowned. "What?"

"Notice anything?"

Gambit looked Purdey up and down. "You're beautiful? Every day." But even as she was smiling at the compliment, he caught an oddity. The way she was standing, one leg looked to be taking more of her weight. The left one. That meant the right had taken damage.

"What happened to your leg?" he asked carefully, and Purdey raised an index finger in confirmation.

"Well, it's good to know your powers of observation didn't completely atrophy while I was gone," she commented. "When I took my trip down the hill, my trousers tore. Right around the thigh. And there was this large spider at the bottom that didn't take too kindly to my just about rolling over him."

Gambit's jaw dropped. "You were _bitten_? By a _tarantula_?"

"Of the poisonous variety, yes," Purdey confirmed. "Luckily, some of the locals found me just in time and administered the antidote."

"Natives?" Gambit looked sceptical. "You're joking."

"Mike Gambit, would I try an explanation that corny if it wasn't true?" Purdey pointed out. "And it wasn't exactly easy. I spent a lot of time drifting in and out of consciousness, and between that and my side and my wrist, I've had better times." Gambit glanced at her left hand for the first time and realised it was bound. "Slight fracture," she told him, following his gaze. "Nothing to worry about. But I was vulnerable in the meantime, and Pym and his men are still out on the prowl. I didn't want to endanger the tribe by trying to contact anyone, although it wasn't as if I had the resources."

"Explains a lot," Gambit agreed, massaging his temples. "We really did almost lose you."

"Don't dwell on it," Purdey suggested. "I'd rather not, in any case."

"Sorry," Gambit apologised. "But couldn't someone—one of your lot—have contacted someone?"

"Too risky," Purdey replied. "With Pym out on the prowl, they've been denying my existence to anyone who asks, including, I think, Grey's men, but I was unconscious at the time. They didn't know who to trust. It was the only way to keep me safe."

"I'll have to remember to thank them," Gambit mused. "I think Steed's having a word with them at the moment."

Purdey smiled broadly. "Steed's here?"

"Any reason to think otherwise?" Gambit pointed out. "Which reminds me, I ought to radio him and let him know you're not still AWOL."

"Good idea," Purdey agreed as Gambit unclipped the radio on his belt. As he fiddled with the frequency, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and glanced up in time to see Purdey lift the improvised skirt she'd wrapped around her waist to check on an ugly-looking red gash on her thigh. She was also clad in a black sleeveless shirt and a pair of army-like boots, and Gambit marvelled at how well she pulled it off. Purdey's eyes rose and met his at that moment, and she dropped the skirt back in place with an arched eyebrow. Gambit looked back at the radio before she could comment. He depressed the transmit button and tried to keep the smile off his lips while he spoke.

"Steed?" There was a moment of silence, and then the senior agent's voice floated over the airwaves.

"Gambit. I was just about to contact you." Purdey smiled to herself. Steed's voice was as welcome as Gambit's presence. For the first time in for what felt like forever, she was on solid ground. "I've good news. One of the local tribes has informed us that they've been habouring a fair-haired houseguest the past few weeks. Apparently she's gone out for a walk, but they're expecting her back any moment. That should put your mind at ease."

Gambit waggled his eyebrows at Purdey. "I'll do you one better," he replied. "You'll never guess who I ran into."

"Purdey!" Steed greeted cheerfully, as though he was somehow capable of seeing via radio. "Thank goodness. We were starting to worry."

Purdey sauntered over and took the radio Gambit offered, exchanging grin with her colleague even as she replied. "Only starting?" she queried.

"Well, you're more than capable of looking after yourself ordinarily."

"But this was extraordinary," Purdey pointed out.

"So it was. How did you come to meet up with Gambit?" Steed wanted to know.

"She just dropped in," Gambit quipped, and Purdey let out a groan for Steed's benefit.

"Literally," she told him.

"I sincerely hope you didn't sprain anything. Your hosts have informed me that you've taken some damage." The edge of worry in his voice was unmistakable.

"She's not doing too badly," Gambit snorted. "If her moves are anything to go by. Damn near cut my throat."

Steed tsked in mock disdain. "Purdey, you really must work on your modes of greeting. Someone could take it the wrong way."

"I'll try," Purdey promised.

"I hate to cut things short," Gambit interjected, "but I think it's time we headed back. Are you still at the village?"

"That's right," Steed confirmed. "I'll be waiting. Keep an eye on Purdey—I'd rather we didn't lose her again."

Purdey snorted. "No fear of that. I think Gambit's planning on tethering us together."

"You won't hear me arguing," Gambit commented, with a wicked look in his eye.

"Down, boy."

"I can tell you have a lot of catching up to do," Steed said knowingly. "Call in if you run into trouble."

"Right, Steed. Gambit out." Mike eyed Purdey up, met the blue eyes again. He knew he was in the Amazon, but as far as he was concerned, he was home.

"I've got some rope in with my gear," he offered mischievously.

"In your dreams, Mike."

"Better than some things."

"Oh, don't hang about looking mournful. I want to see Steed before the light goes. Come on, the village is this way." She set off purposefully through the undergrowth, and Gambit fell into step beside her gratefully. They walked in silence for a moment, before Purdey's oddly-wired brain caught up with her.

"I imagine you've been lonely," she mused casually.

"A bit," Gambit revealed. "Well, a lot, actually."

She shook her head. "You should've gone in for the dog."

Gambit laughed. It felt good.

* * *

Bonus mini-disclaimer: Tara King is the property of Canal+Image.


	17. The Talk

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Another chapter, and not such a long wait this time round. Brilliant! Anyway, this one will set up the rest of the fic. Things are never simple where Purdey's concerned.

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with the fic thus far and reviewed. It really gets me motivated to edit and post the next chapter. Hope you enjoy this one. A nice little character interlude.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky by the time Gambit and Purdey found their way back to the village. Gambit wasn't worried about the dark so much as what it concealed—predators, both animal and human. He found himself sticking closer to Purdey than he would under normal circumstances. But Purdey was right—these weren't ordinary circumstances, not even in their strange line of work. And he was damned if he was going to let her out of his sight before she was safely tucked away in her basement flat back in London—and then he'd be on the phone to make sure she was all right, as much for his own sanity as her well-being. She'd be driven mad by it pretty quickly herself, but the next week or so would be the resumption of old habits, old jokes, old relationships, at least until his nightmares were banished once again. From the way Purdey kept glancing over her shoulder at him, though, he guessed he wasn't the only one who needed the reassurance that the other was there. He couldn't be certain, but the way she kept finding reasons to touch his arm, however slightly, made him think she was trying to reassure herself that he was real. _Oh, I hope so._

Steed was fairly easy to spot upon their arrival. Not many people considered a bowler hat essential gear for a trek into the Amazon. Purdey spotted him immediately, and took off on a slightly unsteady loping sprint to close the remaining distance between herself and the senior agent, betraying her injured leg in the process. She threw her arms around his neck in a tight hug, and Gambit, despite himself, felt a vague twinge of jealousy. Purdey certainly hadn't greeted _him_ that way, although a small voice pointed out that he hadn't given her a chance before he'd taken her in his arms himself. He comforted himself with the recollection that she seemed to be in the process of returning the gesture until he'd given her rib a squeeze. It was his own fault, really. He set about joining the pair. Purdey was smiling beatifically, chattering away to Steed in enthusiastic greeting. They both turned cheery dispositions on the third member of the team.

"Purdey was just saying that she didn't expect us to find our way around quite so well,  
Steed informed his colleague.

"Not to mention gaining the confidence of the tribe," Purdey added, scrunching up her face. "You didn't arrive until this afternoon. They're usually a little leery of anyone who comes asking for me."

"Well, we did have help," Gambit began, exchanging glances with Steed.

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I don't know which idea is more unbelievable: you admitting you need help, or finding someone mad enough to provide it."

"Very funny."

"Who is this mysterious third party?" Purdey wanted to know, glancing around the village. "Anyone I know?"

"Well, actually..." Gambit began, withering under Purdey's penetrating stare. "I mean, 'know of' might be a better way of putting it. It's—"

"There you are!" Heads whipped around in unison at the approach of Emma Knight, striding purposefully toward them. Purdey's jaw dropped. Steed beamed. Gambit wasn't certain whether to be amused or afraid. Emma stopped in front of the gobsmacked blonde and smiled her charming lopsided grin. "Steed radioed and told me Mike had caught up with you. I was just up at the camp," she explained to Mike's questioning gaze. "Everything seems all right." She looked Purdey up and down. "So do you, thankfully. We've been worried about you." She took in Purdey's face, contorted with shock, and seemed to remember herself. "I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced." She stuck out a friendly hand. "I'm—"

"Mrs. Peel!" Purdey exclaimed, and Gambit bit back the urge to correct the surname. Somehow, he didn't think Purdey was in the mood.

"It's Knight now, actually," Emma said gently, hand still hovering in the air. "But it hasn't seen anywhere near the publicity." She looked from Gambit to Steed and back to Purdey. "I take it Steed and Mike didn't mention I was along?" she deduced wryly.

"You might say that," Purdey muttered, shooting her colleagues a poisonous look.

"I see." Emma arched an eyebrow at the two men. Gambit swallowed a little under the penetrating gaze of the two women.

"I meant to," he tried to explain, "but with all the excitement of finding Purdey, it sort of....slipped my mind."

"Mmm," was Emma's only comment. "Well, no harm done, I suppose. It's nice to finally meet you." The hand was still extended, Purdey realised belatedly, and she put her pangs of jealousy aside for a moment to take it. Emma's shake was firm, but friendly. _Naturally,_ Purdey grumbled internally, _**she**__ doesn't have any competition._ She took a moment to give the auburn-haired woman an once-over. Despite pushing forty, Emma had kept her figure, just as tall and willowy as her photos suggested, wide-spaced brown eyes still filled with feline mischief. And the high cheekbones showed no signs of fading with age. All in all, aside from the odd extra crease, she could easily have been the daring, catsuited other half of a sixties John Steed, and it was exceptionally clear that the pair had picked up where they'd left off. That was to be expected, but Gambit's obvious infatuation was the real kick in the stomach. Purdey knew he had a fondness for the infamous Mrs. Peel, but it had been akin to worshipping a matinee idol. The real thing, in the flesh, tossing endearingly lopsided smiles about, was much more difficult to compete with, and harder to dismiss as a meaningless crush. To make matters worse, Emma had the height advantage by a good half inch, and for the first time since her foray into the jungle, Purdey missed her high heels.

But what frightened her most was the idea of being replaced, even temporarily. Her confidence was shaken. Despite her usual bravado, the idea of losing her place on their little team was almost too much to bear. And Emma had swept in and filled the void easily, it seemed. Purdey wasn't certain she could compete.

"Yes," she agreed, without much conviction. "I've heard so much about you. Half the stories in training centre around your years at the Ministry." She considered the next phrase carefully, decided to throw it into the ring. "But then I've supplemented with a little research--the Cybernauts made another appearance."

Emma smirked a little at that. "Ah, yes, Mike told me about that. A human/cybernaut hybrid—a nasty thought." She shivered a little involuntarily.

"'Mike' did, did he?" Purdey said pointedly. "What else have these two been telling you?"

"A few things pertinent to the job at hand," Emma replied vaguely. "As I said, everyone's been very worried about you. Lucky this particular tribe happened upon you."

Purdey frowned. "Why this tribe?" she wanted to know, and another thought occurred to her. "Wait, you never did explain how you got them to confide in you in the first place. They've clammed up to just about anyone who's tried to extract information."

"Ah, but Mrs. Peel has a history with this particular group of the locals," Steed informed with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't you, my dear?"

Purdey glanced from one to the other in bemusement. "What do you mean?"

Gambit sauntered up behind her, murmured in her ear. "You might remember a headline back in '68? Test pilot?"

Purdey put a hand to her forehead and groaned. "Peter Peel," she said with dawning realisation. "I wondered where they'd picked up their English. It's his rusted out plane I found." She peeked at Gambit between fingers. "Do they lose people here often?"

"Well, the Bermuda Triangle can only take on so many," Gambit quipped, and Purdey groaned again.

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage," she told Emma. The other woman shrugged carelessly.

"I didn't plan it that way," she admitted. "We found you. That's all that matters."

"Happily," Steed agreed. "Now we can be getting back to England."

"I can go for that," Gambit chimed in, looking relieved. "Put the whole mess behind us."

"Good," Purdey snapped shortly. "You do that. I'm staying here." She crossed her arms like a sulky child, face twisted up in defiance.

Gambit blinked in surprise. "What? We came to get you out of here. You can't _stay_. We rescued you."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might not need rescuing?" Purdey retorted sharply.

Gambit's jaw dropped open and twitched vaguely, as though he were having difficulty working it. Steed, with a meaningful glance at Emma, signalled for her to give them a moment, and she withdrew without so much as a quip. Steed said a silent prayer of thanks that the years hadn't dulled their near-telepathic link, and stepped in to say what was no doubt on his colleague's mind. "I think Gambit's a bit puzzled. I'm afraid we all are." He smiled at her in that comforting way of his, but Purdey was unmoved. "Surely this isn't about Mrs. Peel. If it is, I think you're overreacting—"

"It's nothing to do with Mrs. Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Is!" Purdey exclaimed. "Although I can't quite believe you asked _Emma Peel_ in. Do you have an order of preference, or do you just ring up a colleague at random? Flip a coin—heads for Peel, tails for Gale?"

"Tails for King, actually," Gambit pointed out quietly. "I don't think Mrs. Gale is interested in having much of anything to do with us."

Purdey shot him a look that indicated he wasn't helping his case, and he took the point. "Look," she told them. "Grey sent me here to draw out Pym, and he succeeded. If he wants Pym so badly, I aim to catch him. Otherwise I'll have wasted my time out here."

"Wait," Gambit broke in, unable to keep silent for long. "You're planning on catching Pym yourself?"

Purdey bristled. "Why shouldn't I? He killed my father. I've more of a right to be here than anyone, and if someone's going to bring him in, I'd rather it was me." She looked from one to another. "Don't you see? That's why I've been lying low. If I wanted to, I could have sent a message out and gotten home just as soon as I was well enough. But I've been waiting, and watching, and I think I know how to find him."

"Purdey," Steed said gently. "You've been through too much these past few weeks to be hunting anyone, particularly when your quarry has a personal connection. You can't possibly be an impartial agent with vengeance on your mind. I think it'd be much better if you came home, had some time to recover."

"You can think what you like," Purdey said defiantly. "I'm not going anywhere. So you can either stay and help, or pack up Emma over there and go home to London. From the looks of things, I won't be missed."

She hadn't meant to say that last part, but it had slipped out without her consent, and now she regretted it. She'd never seen both their faces fall in unison quite like that, hadn't known that it was possible for hurt to be reflected identically in two pairs of eyes, each set bearing their own unique take on blue. She knew she wasn't being fair, but it was so hard to think clearly with the heat in her brain and the anger in her heart...

"You've made up your mind, then?" Steed said quietly, after a moment. "We can't persuade you to come back?"

"Not without a dose of chloroform that'll hold until halfway across the Atlantic, but I'd like to think I know you better than that," Purdey confirmed, a little gentler this time.

"You ought to," Gambit told her, with heartbreakingly sad eyes.

"You've got to understand," she pleaded. "All this time, I've never known how exactly my father died, who pulled the trigger. Now I have the chance to put things right, to make certain he never does this to anyone ever again. I'd rather do it with help, but I'll settle with Mike's gun."

Gambit snorted. "A gun's the last thing you should have in your hands."

"Then I'll have to make do," Purdey said brittlely, eyes locked with his. He blinked, just once, and something changed, intangibly, but changed nonetheless. Gambit straightened his shoulders, glanced at Steed, and reached out to grip her arm just above the elbow—not hard, but firmly enough that she'd pay attention.

"We need to talk," he said with conviction. "And we need to get you patched up properly." He guided Purdey over to where Steed and Emma had piled the gear, hefted a first aid kit in his other hand, and steered Purdey over to one of the dwellings that dotted the landscape. Purdey cast one backward glance at Steed before she found herself inside.

There wasn't much inside the dwelling—a rough-hewn table that served its purpose when Gambit set his first aid kit on it. Purdey watched him silently by the dim light filtering through the doorway, trying to read his face for some sign as to what he was thinking, coming up with nothing but grim concentration. In the failing light, she couldn't see the circles under his eyes, or the haunting behind them, and that made him closer to the vital, handsome young agent she knew. If only the expression matched up.

"You're angry with me?" she asked, not certain what she'd do if he said 'yes.' She wasn't certain she'd ever had Gambit actually _mad_ at her before—frustrated, certainly, when she went off on some tangent and led him on a chase, or took pains to emphasize how attractive some other member of the department was. Worried for her well-being. Annoyed when she set him up to look like the fool. But never angry. Pure anger, untempered and unyielding in the face of a smile or a quip. She'd seen what he could do, of course, when pushed, but that was always directed at the enemy, not her. But now she was worried that the line had been crossed. Gambit had already taken a larger degree of control than usual by steering her in here, and considering how stressed he'd been, she knew his chances of snapping at her were heightened. _But nothing like that_, she told herself, the memory, the feeling of the slap against her cheek bubbling up in her subconscious. She wasn't afraid of Gambit, but of what he'd say and how their relationship would be altered. The bottom line was Purdey didn't really want to hunt Pym on her own, and she'd felt certain, somehow, that Gambit would be the first to join her on her quest. If he gave up on her now...

"No," Gambit replied crisply, detaching a powerful flashlight from his belt and switching it on experimentally. "I'm worried about you."

Purdey let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Worried?"

"Yes. That you're taking all this a little too hard, and all the time you've spent sitting in this jungle plotting hasn't done much for your sense of perspective." He glanced up from the light and met her eyes. "You don't even seem to care that we found you."

"I _am_ glad to see you," Purdey insisted.

"You have a funny way of showing it," Gambit said gruffly.

"Mike!" Purdey shouted in frustration. "You know what my reasons are. I don't want to send you or Steed or anyone away, not really. All I want is—"

"Revenge," Gambit stated flatly. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm worried." He glanced at the table, patted a spot in front of where he stood. "Hop up here and I'll see about those battle scars of yours."

Purdey raised an eyebrow. "Isn't this the wrong time to be playing doctor?"

"Best time. And I'm not playing. Healing hands, remember?" He rose them to chest level and flexed his strong fingers invitingly. Purdey could almost feel the breeze in the field where he had first said those words, and the smile that followed was enough to get her hiked onto the table.

"It's not such a foreign concept to you," she pointed out when Gambit was hunting out the plasters.

"Healing?"

"Revenge," she clarified. "You were planning on hunting down everyone involved with my curare poisoning. Don't deny it. Steed told me."

"I don't plan to," Gambit assured, tipping some alcohol onto a cloth and proceeding to dab at her mostly-healed gash at her neck.

"Then you know what I'm feeling," she persisted, as Mike finished up and put the plaster over the wound.

"Yes," he admitted, extracting a roll of tape. "But you made it in the end." He pulled at the end and unrolled the tape. "Hold out your bad wrist." Purdey complied and he continued as he secured the injured extremity over what had already been applied. "And I'll tell you something—I could easily pull the trigger on any man that ever hurt you and not feel even the tiniest bit of remorse."

"Just like that?" she queried.

"Just like that." And the words were punctuated by the audible snap of the tape as he finished up the binding. Purdey caught the set of his jaw as he did so, and knew he was deadly serious.

_I can only imagine if you crossed paths with Larry, _she mused inwardly, but tried her best to push past the old, dead memories. _He wouldn't stand a chance._

"But here's the difference," Gambit went on, locking eyes with hers. "I don't hang about hating them. Do you know why? Because you're still here, and all I'd be doing is depriving myself of the person I was trying to save to begin with. If I lost you that day..." He paused, and Purdey could see he was reigning in whatever emotions that were threatening to surface. "I wouldn't have had anything to go back to, anything to lose, nothing I couldn't drop in favour of going after them. And that still wouldn't make it right, in the end. But on top of it all, Purdey, you do. You've got people who care about you—family, friends. Your father wouldn't want you to let go of everything just to destroy one man, and I'll bet your mother wouldn't be too keen on it, either."

Purdey studied her feet. Gambit sighed tiredly.

"I'm not trying to lecture you. It's just that I know--revenge, killing for the sake of killing—it does something to your soul, Purdey, and I'd hate to see yours tarnished."

Purdey brought her eyes back up to his again, saw emptiness behind them. "You sound as though you speak from experience."

"Yeah, well, I've got a few dark corners I'm not too proud of."

"At least you know how to overcome them," Purdey pointed out gently.

"Exactly," Gambit said gruffly. "And that's why I'm going to stay and make sure you don't go overboard, but on one condition. We catch him, but we don't kill him. We bring him in, let the authorities process him. Then it'll be justice we're serving, not revenge," Gambit said, very seriously.

Purdey frowned. "But—"

"No buts," Gambit said firmly. "I'm not backing down on this one. But I won't make you go home just yet and I won't leave you alone. I can't speak for Steed and Emma, though. You'll have to make your own deals with them. But first you've got to promise you won't go hunting gun in hand."

"Oh, all right," Purdey agreed with an audible sigh. "I promise."

"Good." Gambit hadn't relinquished control of the tape. He was eyeing Purdey's side with the expression of someone who had cracked his share of ribs and knew what to look for. And how to hide it.

"Does that hurt?" he queried, deflecting the sombre mood that had settled over the pair, and she followed his gaze gratefully. "When some idiot's not squeezing the life out of it, anyway?"

Purdey smirked at the reference. "Just a bit," she allowed. "When I lift my arms or twist the wrong way."

"Right." Gambit nodded to himself thoughtfully. "That'll need taping, too, at the very least. Up with the shirt."

Purdey blanched. "What?" she exclaimed, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her top.

Gambit made a face that was more impatience than embarrassment. "You're not going to do anyone any good if you can't lift your arm above your shoulder, and I'm not taping over top. Come on, come on."

Purdey still had the cloth in an iron grip. "Mike Gambit, you've tried some things, but this..."

"Don't look at me like that," Gambit scolded gently. "If I'm right, you took the impact right about here." He reached out and pressed gently four inches above her hip. Purdey winced visibly, and he withdrew quickly. "Sorry," he apologised. "But it's not very far up. I'm not going to see much more than your belly button." He paused, and a wicked grin spread across his features. "Sadly."

Purdey shook her head in disbelief. "You do beat all, don't you, Mike?" She sighed and set about rolling up her shirt. "The things I do for this job."

"I like to think of them as perks," Gambit said cheerfully, proceeding to wind the tape around her torso. "Let me know if this hurts."

"It always hurts," Purdey muttered. "But you're not making it too much worse."

"Good." Gambit fell silent as he concentrated on his task. Purdey watched him for a few moments before the lack of dialogue got to her. After all, it had been weeks since she'd met anyone who knew "The Treasure of Sierra Madre" in anything other than Portuguese, and the lack of companionable conversation had been less than enjoyable.

"You're awfully good at this," she commented, as Gambit put the finishing touches on her side. "And here I thought you were clueless the way you went on every time you got so much as a scratch."

Gambit smiled ruefully. "Yeah, well, I've had a lot of experience on the other side of the doctor-patient relationship. Army, navy—they both teach you some first aid, and sadly I've had more than a few reasons to keep in practice." He paused, and frowned at some far off memory. "Particularly when you're tramping around where the nearest hospital is miles away." He smiled at her questioning gaze, switched back to banter. "Can't help but pick up a few things, but it's just as easy to forget when there's a promising nurse in the area."

Purdey chuckled. "I'll have to remember that next time you play the invalid."

"Don't say that. There's got to be some incentive to getting shot."

"Not too much, I hope. The Germans can only spare so many transfusions."

"Very funny." He looked her over once again, scanning for any other injuries. "That should be everything, except—" His gaze dropped to her thigh. "—the bite."

Purdey shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothing to worry about," she protested mildly. "They got all the poison out."

"Yes, I could see that," Gambit reminded. "Earlier, when you were having a look. That gash wasn't from the bite."

"They had to cut it open to take out the venom," Purdey explained. "And then it got infected when it started to heal, and they had to cut it open again. But they did have it bandaged until I took it off a few days ago. It was itching, but I think it's all right."

"All the same," Gambit pushed gently. "I'd like to take a look, just to make sure that nothing's gone wrong. At the very least you need to bandage it up so you've got less of a chance of reopening it jumping out of trees."

Purdey crossed her arms. "What I need is a partner who doesn't want to play doctor," she snapped. "Particularly when the wound is someplace interesting."

"Purdey," Gambit said quietly. "This isn't a trick, anymore than it was with your side. I'm not trying anything. I'd be worried no matter where it was on your body, but the little bugger got you in the thigh, so that's what I need to see."

Purdey sighed and glanced at her feet. "I trust you—"

"Good."

"—but you can't blame me for feeling vulnerable," she pointed out, blue eyes flicking up to meet his. There was something else behind the words, and he knew it. "Even if it's you."

"I know," he assured. "But if it makes you feel any better, I won't look anywhere but the bite."

Purdey looked sceptical.

"All right," Gambit amended. "I'll _try_ not to look anywhere but the bite."

Purdey hesitated, but couldn't deny the throbbing ache where the wound required a little extra support. So slowly, reluctantly, she drew back her skirt on the right side, all the way to the bite on the thigh. Gambit looked relieved.

"Thanks," he told her, and moved in to get a better look, sucked air in sharply. "That looks like it hurts."

"It does."

"Right, well it's going to hurt more, sadly," he admitted, soaking another cloth in alcohol. "But it needs to be sterilised. I can't do too much for the pain, but if it gets too heavy, tell me. The last thing I want to do is add to the damage." He looked her in the eye. "Ready?"

Purdey reached out and put her hand on his shoulders to brace herself. "Ready," she confirmed.

She kept looking at his face, even as his gaze drifted downwards, felt a mixture of relief and comfort when one hand tentatively rested on her thigh to steady it, while the other dabbed cautiously at the wound. It stung like hell, but Purdey was lucky enough to have other sensations to distract her. He'd never touched her quite this way, and she felt a pleasurable chill race down her spine. Maybe it was being away from him for so long that amplified the sensations. Either way, she was determined to enjoy it while it lasted. Only he'd stopped. She only realised she'd closed her eyes when she eased them open again, and she found Gambit staring at her with a mixture of worry and bemusement.

"You okay?" he queried, and Purdey frowned.

"Fine. Why?"

"You sucked in a good bit of air just now. I thought things may have gotten a little too intense."

_You don't know the half of it._ "No," she told him. "No, I'm fine."

"Good," Gambit murmured. "Then you won't mind taking your nails out of my shoulder. They went clean through my shirt a moment ago."

Purdey realised belatedly that she was digging into Gambit's shoulder, and relaxed her grip with a flush of embarrassment. "Sorry."

He waved it off, reaching for the magic tape again. "This really is going to scar, you know."

"I know," Purdey agreed with a sigh. Gambit's left hand was still holding things steady, but the right was busy winding tape, and it made it easier to focus. "I suppose it's just as well the miniskirt's gone out of fashion."

"Sadly," Gambit quipped, with that familiar grin playing at his lips. "But look on the bright side—if we ever run into another of those doubles, I'll have a surefire to identify you."

Purdey snorted. "I suppose you'll be seeing doubles everywhere from now on," she quipped.

"I'm quite happy with one of you," Gambit told her, cutting the tape. "I don't think I could handle two mad marshmallow-eating women."

"Your loss," Purdey teased. "Anyway, you seem perfectly capable of switching back and forth between women." Gambit arched an eyebrow. "Mrs. Peel," she elaborated. "Or should I say 'Emma'?"

"Yes, Emma," Gambit confirmed flatly, although he was having difficulty holding back his excitement at being on the other side of the jealousy game. "What about her?"

"What about--? You know very well what I mean. Where did you meet?"

"At a party," Gambit revealed, looking infuriatingly smug about the whole thing.

Purdey narrowed her eyes. "What sort of party?"

"A Christmas party. Really, Purdey, what do you take me for?"

Purdey shook her head. "I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"The odds of you and Emma Peel just happening to be at the same party are astronomical. I mean, you don't exactly travel in the same circles."

"Maybe not for the most part," Gambit allowed, "but you're forgetting one obvious connection."

Purdey frowned. "What?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's outside."

"Steed?!" Purdey exclaimed. "You met her at _Steed's_ Christmas party? That's impossible. I was there last year."

"Who said anything about last year?" Gambit teased.

Purdey's jaw felt the pull of gravity, but she barely managed to rein it in. "Gambit," she said tightly. "How long have you known Mrs. Peel exactly?"

"Let's see. That was Christmas Eve, '75, so—"

"That was three days before_ I _met you," Purdey said tartly. "And here I thought I was your..."

"First? Sorry, Purdey-girl."

Purdey crossed her arms tightly, and scowled. "You might have told me."

"I _did_ tell you," Gambit contradicted. "Last Christmas. Remember? The best gift for Steed is liquid and best served chilled. I told you she gave me the tip."

Purdey was eyeing him in disbelief. "I thought you were joking," she defended.

"I'd never joke about Emma," Gambit said in mock-seriousness.

"Well, you didn't exactly go out of your way to discourage me, either," Purdey pointed out.

"Because I knew you'd make a fuss," Gambit explained. "Every time someone so much as mentions Emma, you look as though you've been sucking a lemon. Don't deny it—you're doing it now."

"I am not," Purdey grumbled sourly, then paused as a thought occurred to her. "Wait...wait, you spun a story about Christmas, 1975 for me. About how things got a bit hot, and you left with someone..." She locked eyes with him, daring him to contradict the unspoken line of reasoning. Gambit was unfazed.

"That's right," he stated flatly, and Purdey felt her heart stop. If she could be replaced on the team, what happened to the other territories that she hadn't gotten around to conquering?

"Mike Gambit," she said, with menace underlying her voice, "please tell me that if I went in that little black book of yours, I wouldn't find a certain entry under 'P'."

Gambit frowned. "Of course not," he dismissed, and Purdey relaxed ever-so-slightly. "You know she goes by 'Knight' now."

This time Purdey's heart dropped into her stomach, and her jaw did the same. This couldn't be right. Gambit would never...and Emma certainly would never...well, all those rumours about her and Steed made it impossible. Then again, it had been years since the glorious sixties, and Gambit was attractive and virile and another agent with more than a passing fondness for the former Emma Peel. Purdey tried her best to clear away the mental image that surfaced.

"But she's older than you." The words came out without her permission, but all Gambit did was grin one of those infuriating grins.

"Nothing wrong with older women. Experienced. Anyway, she's not even forty."

Purdey was finding it difficult to breathe. This couldn't be happening. How could Gambit do this to her? Then again, he hadn't known her at the time. But what about in the meantime? Purdey found herself casting her mind back to every occasion that Gambit had mentioned a 'hot date.' How many of those...?

Gambit leaned forward, eyes boring into hers. "Do you want to know the truth?"

Purdey felt puzzlement slide in among the other emotions clamouring for attention. "What?"

"I'm trying to prove a point, because you owe Emma a hell of a lot—not just your position with the Ministry, but Steed and me even getting here. And all you seem to be interested in is jumping to conclusions."

Purdey felt a sliver of hope. "You mean...?"

"I took her out for a drink," Gambit revealed. "And we talked for an hour or two. Then I left for Canada and she went back to the party."

Purdey could have died with relief. "And since then?"

Gambit shrugged. "Sometimes I give her a ring, sometimes she calls me. Knight has one or two contracts with the military, and she's asked for my input a few times." He smiled ruefully. "It's the only stock I have. I don't trust myself with the stock market anymore than I do with horse races."

Purdey managed a smirk at that. "You _are_ mean. But why didn't you tell me? Why all the secrecy?"

"I already told you—because you'd have a fit and jump to all the wrong conclusions no matter what I told you. Purdey, I don't know what you think I've been up to all this time, but I sure as hell haven't been carrying on with Emma. She's a _friend._ But I thought if you knew, it'd muck up our partnership. Steed's not entirely pleased about it. And don't deny that you were thinking the worst of me just now."

Purdey bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I was wrong."

"You were wrong," Gambit agreed. "But now we've gotten this over with we can move on and try to do something about Pym."

"Right," Purdey agreed. "You're right."

Gambit arched an eyebrow. "That's a first."

She scrunched up her face up at him. "I just don't want to be replaced."

"_You_ replaced _her_. And Tara King," Gambit pointed out. "You're the last girl, you know, to be Steed's partner. I don't think you'll _ever_ have a replacement. You do realise that it'll be up to us to carry on the John Steed legacy?" He smiled ruefully. "Whole idea scares the hell out of me."

Purdey looked thoughtful. "Do you really think so?"

Gambit shook his head in disbelief. "Purdey, Purdey, Purdey-girl. Do you think you're replaceable?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I wouldn't have thought so an hour ago."

"Well, not in my eyes." And he kissed her hand.

"Fascinating."

"What?" Gambit asked in bemusement.

"To see three weeks of accumulated charm escaping at once. You really have been behaving yourself. I'll bet the only other woman you've spoken to this past month is the lady who cleans your flat."

Gambit shuddered. "I'd prefer not to think about her just now."

"You could clean it yourself."

"I'd rather not think of that, either."

"Well," Purdey said as she slid off the table. "At least I'm second."

"Come again?"

"The second of Steed's female partners to cross paths with you," she clarified.

Gambit rubbed the back of neck uneasily. "About that..."

Purdey narrowed her eyes. "Gambit..."

"Well, Emma wasn't the first, actually," he told her reluctantly. "I was in Africa, you see, and there was this blonde who just about took my head off with her hunting rifle."

Purdey rolled her eyes expansively. "Don't tell me. Mrs. Gale?"

"Dr. Gale, actually," Gambit corrected without nearly as much enthusiasm as he had Emma's moniker. "In my defence, it was before my Ministry days. I only made the connection a few years later." He frowned in thought. "Come to think of it, it must have been Steed she kept muttering about."

Purdey tapped her foot impatiently. "It's a pity she missed," she commented. "Anyone else I should know about in your quest to collect all four? I suppose you play bridge with Tara King on the weekends."

"She dropped by my training class once,," Gambit admitted. "But we didn't talk. All she did was smile and say hello."

"Thinking happy thoughts, obviously."

"So was I."

Purdey sighed. "I think I liked it better when it was just Emma."

"Well, you'll like her even more in a moment. I got her to pack you some clean clothes."

Purdey grabbed a handful of Gambit's jacket and pulled hard. "You let her go through my wardrobe?"

"Would you rather it was me? Or Steed?" Gambit pointed out, and Purdey loosened her grip ever-so-slightly.

"It's still humiliating," Purdey muttered, but released him nonetheless. "But I suppose there's not much I can do about it now." She turned to leave. "But you owe me a very, very expensive dinner when we get back to London."

Gambit smiled. "Deal."


	18. Plans and Schemes

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Not a terribly eventful chapter this time around. Just laying the necessary groundwork for the rest of the fic. Last update for February, too. See you in March!

* * *

Emma and Steed were in close conference when they stepped into the dying light. Emma saw them first, and her eyes flicked ever-so-slightly in their direction, alerting Steed to their presence without a speaking a single word. Purdey and Gambit made their way over while the other two waited expectantly. Emma crossed her arms. "Well?" she queried.

"Purdey's all patched up," Gambit informed, raising the first-aid kit as evidence. "It might not put Kendrick out of work, but it'll have to hold until we get back to London."

"Good," Steed replied, eyes on Purdey. "Do I take it that to mean you'll be coming home?"

"Eventually," Purdey allowed. "I'm still going after Pym, and Gambit's agreed to help me bring him in." She exchanged glances with her partner. "I'll understand if you want to leave without us. It's my fight. There's no reason for you to help."

It was Steed and Emma's turn to exchange wordless communiqués. "I don't think I've had quite enough of Brazil just yet. What do you think, Mrs. Peel?"

Emma gazed upward in contemplation. "I think this holiday could do with an extension," she agreed. "And the humidity does wonders for the skin." She lowered her gaze to meet Purdey's, eyes dancing. "If you have a plan, then I can guarantee two more recruits."

Purdey would have preferred only one more recruit, if she were honest. No matter what Gambit said, Emma was casting her own particular spell, and Purdey was the immune fourth wheel. But she also knew her injuries were going to hamper her in this mission, and the extra pair of hands would probably come in useful. All the same, she'd been hoping for a dose of the team's old rapport to put her back in the mood, to feel at home again. But banishing Emma would alienate everyone. So instead of scowling, she forced a smile. "Thank you."

"Pleasure," Steed told her, then glanced at the sky. "We ought to head back before the light's gone completely. "Purdey, it'd be better if you said good-bye to your friends now. Grey's men are on the alert, and if they come looking I'd rather they weren't associated with any of us."

Purdey nodded in agreement. She knew that the tribe was putting itself at risk by harbouring her, and as much as she'd grown to love them, she knew her presence put everyone in jeopardy. "I'll go now," she promised. "Just let me pack."

***

Purdey made the good-byes as painless as possible, thanking everyone individually for their help, promising them they would receive some sort of compensation for the weeks of care, although they seemed quite happy to have helped another stranded Brit in need regardless. Gambit watched her chat animatedly with them. It was a joy just to watch her move, animate, breathe, each tiny gesture banishing the fears of the past few weeks farther and farther away.

Then they were off, trudging through the wilderness, albeit at a slower pace because of Purdey's injuries. No one explicitly stated the reason, but Gambit could tell by Purdey's stubborn expression that she was going to go as fast as she could, regardless of her thigh. It made her pale with the pain eventually, and Gambit steadily slowed his gait so that it would seem less like he was trying to make her pace herself, and more like he wanted a friendly stroll, side-by-side. Both were true, but it added time to their journey. They passed it by outlining the events at the Ministry since her departure. Purdey almost growled when Steed mentioned her real name on the flight list.

"Grey can't keep up like this. He'll have people dead if no one blows the whistle."

"We plan on it. Don't worry," Gambit said grimly. "But we've got to go back home first. If Grey catches us here he'll claim interference, and no one will listen to a word we say."

Purdey nodded curtly, but her eyes were blazing. "That makes sense for you, but not me. I'm _supposed_ to be here. I can register a complaint."

"You may have to, but one thing at a time," Steed cautioned. "We don't even have Pym. And you're not going to do any planning until you've had a change of clothes and something to eat." Gambit could read between the lines, and knew from the way Steed was eyeing Purdey's pinched features that he, too, saw the exhaustion and the pain from her leg were taking their toll. Purdey would never accept being told to rest, however, so food and clothes would have to serve as a delaying tactic. The fact that Purdey didn't argue told them more about how she was feeling than words ever would.

"We couldn't get your old clothes back," Gambit told her, when the silence set in and it became clear that Purdey was uncomfortable suffering in silence. "Your hotel room's under guard. They'd notice if we took anything."

"That's all right," Purdey demurred, switching her attention to Emma. Gambit noticed that her smile instantly turned brittle. "I hear you picked some things out for me, Ms. Knight."

Emma shrugged. "I did my best. Sartorial elegance isn't a priority in the jungle, but at least you'll be able to change."

"That will be nice," Purdey admitted. She desperately wanted some trousers to wear. Anything that would do a better job of protecting her leg. Skirts weren't very practical in the jungle anyway. "Thank you."

Emma waved her off distractedly. "Don't mention it." They were approaching the camp now, and she was making certain that no one had settled in during her absence. Thanks to the brush, they were still hidden, and she indicated one of the tents. "Your things are inside. The green pack." She was already making for the other end of the camp to check for watchers, and Steed and Gambit fanned out automatically to do the same. Purdey moved to join the action, but Gambit reached out and touched her arm.

"We'll handle it," he told her. "Don't worry. Get some rest and change. We'll be eating soon."

Purdey narrowed her eyes. She didn't want to be coddled, and she certainly didn't want to stand by while Steed and his new team did all the work. It hurt to see them move in unison, acting on unspoken agreements the way she had only a month ago. Despite Gambit's earlier assurances, jealousy burned inside her. But Gambit was standing his ground, waiting pointedly for her to go inside. She knew this was his first test to see if she was going to keep up her part of the bargain and let them take Pym down his way. That was hurtful in itself—distrust. But deep down she knew she deserved it. Still, that didn't stop her from glaring at Mike and stomping off to her tent like a sulky child. Gambit shook his head at her retreating back and sighed. This wasn't going to be fun at all.

It did feel good to change. Emma had packed some of her less precariously-heeled boots and plenty of t-shirts and pseudo-drill trousers. Purdey stripped down as best she could in the confined space and wriggled into an army green pair, taking care to avoid her injured thigh, and brown t-shirt, before adding a jacket that matched the pants. She traded her boots for a black pair that hadn't softened from use, and laced them up with determination. She was going to do this. She was going to catch Pym. No one could force her to leave without accomplishing her task. No one would try if she kept her head. But the man's face haunted her still, floating in front of her, taunting as he held the knife to her throat. She wasn't afraid when she thought of it—only angry. She'd come up with a way to cope. She imagined reversing the roles, holding him at gunpoint the way he had her father, her finger tightening on the trigger. Tighter and tighter...

She looked down to discover she'd nearly broken a lace doing up her boots. The laces bit into her fingers angrily, leaving a slash of red and white across her hand. She finished lacing carefully, rubbing at the reddened areas before venturing outside again, lest Gambit see and guess what she'd been thinking.

Gambit wasn't waiting outside, as it happened. Purdey couldn't see him, nor Steed, on the campsite. Only Emma was visible, settled on a fallen tree, watching the patch of sky fade to black over their little sanctuary. Purdey didn't particularly feel like talking to the woman, but they were alone, and it would be rude to pretend otherwise. Reluctantly, she made her way over to take a seat next to her predecessor.

"Just the two of us?" she said airily, and Emma glanced at her in mild surprise, as though she'd been expecting the silent treatment, not the blonde settling in to join her in taking in the night air.

"They're on reconnaissance," Emma replied. "I've done my share for the day, so Steed and Gambit insisted. They'll be back soon." She paused, then smiled her lopsided smile. "You won't be left with me long."

Purdey blushed in spite of herself. "I don't mind..."

"Yes, you do. You mind a great deal," Emma said matter-of-factly, but without malice. "I don't blame you. It must seem as though everyone's moved on without you, but I assure you the instant we get back to London, I'll disappear back into the history books." She met Purdey's eyes. "That is what's worrying you?"

"Well, it's just--you're the great Emma Peel," Purdey tried to explain. "You don't know what it's like to be trained and have all these stories about the infamous Steed and Peel fed to you from day one. Anyone would feel a little inadequate."

Emma snorted. "Yes, the great Emma Peel," she said sarcastically. "Scientist, spy, business mogul, academic. And she can't even make a marriage work. But I don't suppose they dwell on that part."

Purdey bit her lip. "No," she confirmed. "And I'm sorry about the divorce. Really. I know what it's like, breaking it off with someone."

Emma arched an interested eyebrow. "I didn't know you were married."

"I wasn't," Purdey corrected hurriedly, not certain why she was confiding in a woman whom she barely knew. "But I was engaged. Once. It ended. Badly."

"I see," Emma said quietly. "I'm sorry. Gambit and Steed didn't mention—"

"They don't know," Purdey cut in hurriedly. "And I'd prefer it to stay that way. They're already protective. I'd hate to see them if they thought I'd gone and gotten my heart broken once upon a time."

Emma reached out and patted her arm. "Your secret's safe with me," she assured. "I think everyone who decides to enter this line of work has some sort of emotional baggage hidden away. Even the legends."

Purdey surprised herself by chuckling. "Even Steed?"

"Especially Steed," Emma declared, tongue-in-cheek. "No one who drives those museum pieces he calls cars can be entirely in his right mind."

"And Gambit?" Purdey was interested now. If Gambit had spent some time with Emma Knight, there was the possibility that he'd let some small tidbit about himself slip that he would never dream of saying to Purdey.

Emma looked thoughtful. "Gambit is..."

It was at that moment that the object of their conversation reappeared, emerging from the foliage to their left, with Steed in tow. He frowned at the pair of women, both wearing identical poker faces, and his own visage was immediately tarnished with suspicion.

"What's going on?" he asked slowly, eyes searching both faces for some clue.

"Nothing," the women chorused.

Gambit frowned in obvious disbelief, looked back to Steed, but the senior agent seemed to see the humour in the situation. "I heard my name," he told them, feeling vague unease creep into his stomach.

"Your name?" Purdey looked to Emma in mock surprise. "We weren't say anything at all about Gambit, were we? Certainly not that he's—"

Emma smiled, and spoke a brief burst of Portuguese, and Purdey automatically responded. The two women looked at one another, as though sensing a heretofore unknown connection. Purdey had used English to say good-bye to the natives, but her repertoire of languages was vast, and tentatively, a conversation was struck up, and before Gambit knew it a rapid-fire exchange was ringing through the forest, ultimately culminating in laughter. Then the pair turned to look his way. And laughed again. Gambit felt his cheeks heat.

"I'll bet at least one of you's lying," he muttered darkly, looking to Steed for some sort of support against the female of the species. To his chagrin, Steed was also chuckling, and Gambit stalked off leaving the women laughing in his wake. He wondered vaguely how long it would take for three bodies to be found in the Amazon if he buried them deep enough.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned in time to see Purdey catch up, despite her uneven gait. She was still grinning, but Gambit's concern shifted to her injuries. If she was in pain, she was ignoring it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow so she could walk alongside him.

"Honestly, Mike, I'm gone a few weeks and you lose your sense of humour completely," she chastised.

"It couldn't have been _that_ funny," Gambit grumbled. "_I'm_ not that funny."

"Then you underestimate yourself," Purdey chortled, patting him on the shoulder.

"I liked it better when you were at odds with Emma," Gambit muttered. "It's not fair, two against one. Wasn't fair when it was just you."

"I'd forgotten about your fragile ego," Purdey mock-soothed. "All right, we'll talk about something other than your...ego." She snorted again and took a moment to control herself. "Sorry," she apologized when Gambit glared. "Take my mind off it. Quick."

"I found my jacket in your closet," Gambit tried, remembering the brown leather number that Emma had pointed out. "I've been looking for it for months. How did you get ahold of it?"

Purdey stopped laughing, thankfully, and regarded him with surprise. "Don't you remember? During our first assignment. Wollerton. The sprinkler system went off. You were gallant enough to give it to me to cover up when we went into the Ministry, and you told me I could hang onto it until I was finished."

Recognition dawned on Gambit's face. "Ah, yes." He remembered it well. A cold December day. Purdey's sodden clothes, her slim frame shivering as they whisked away vital evidence before it could be destroyed. It seemed so long ago now, and like it was just yesterday at the same time. "And I take it you're not finished with it?"

"I always meant to give it back. Just never got around to it." What she didn't say was how much the gesture had meant to her at a time when she was still vulnerable, when her partnership with Gambit was just beginning. She'd felt safe in that jacket because it was Gambit's, and she felt safe around him because he had been courteous enough not to ogle at her soaked blouse, which was a welcome change from most of her classmates. It was at that moment she'd known she had someone to trust in the business, an equal to watch her back just so long as she watched his. And whenever she felt vulnerable and exposed inside, she'd put that jacket on and felt better.

"I didn't take it back," Gambit murmured, breaking into her thoughts. "Thought I'd rather have you do it yourself. When you came back."

"You mean _if_ I came back," Purdey said gently, sobering up suddenly. Gambit looked away hurriedly, before she could see the unshed tears in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you're all right, so let's not dwell on it," he said gruffly, but Purdey hugged his arm affectionately. She really had missed him, had wondered some days if he thought she was dead, if he'd already buried her memory and moved on for his own sanity. She'd prayed he hadn't, didn't know what she'd do if she returned to find that he'd created a life without her. She should have known better. She was about to say as much, but Steed was suddenly in their midst.

"Purdey, we've a few moments while we're waiting for dinner. If you could explain this grand scheme you seem intent on executing?"

Purdey pulled her hand away from Gambit's arm, nodded curtly. "All right," she agreed, leading the way back toward the centre of the camp.

She waited until everyone was there before she began. "After I'd recovered from the worst of the tarantula poisoning, I started taking short walks to build up my strength. I'd go out a bit farther each time, and do a few exercises. Sometimes I'd go out in the evening, because it was peaceful, and I could think. One day I heard a car, and I went looking in case it was a search party." She paused meaningfully. "It wasn't. It was Pym and some of his men. I followed them as far as Pym's base. Grey had taken it over by that point, but they stopped a ways off, and climbed out. There's a rather large rock there, but they've installed some sort of mechanism to shift it, and underneath is a tunnel. They left one man, and the rest went in. Half an hour later, they started bringing back boxes, and the man that stayed behind would hand them matching ones. They must have left them in the base, and swapped them. That's the best explanation I have. I couldn't hear them too well, but I did catch when they were planning on coming back. And I went out that evening, and watched them go through the same procedure." She looked at each of them in turn. "I think Pym let them have the base because he plans on relocating anyway. But he didn't have time to shift all his documents…"

"The blank paper," Gambit said in dawning realisation, then elaborated when he caught Purdey's puzzled look. "When we were in the base, we knocked over a box, all ready to ship back to MI12, and it was filled with nothing but blank paper. No documents. No files. Pym knows they won't read anything until they get back to England. Once they've been packed up, he can make a straight swap, and no one will know until he's long gone."

"That must be it," Purdey agreed. "He's had so many dealings…those files are valuable to anyone, not only him. He's been making regular trips to get them back. And no one's found the passageway. I've been watching. And I know how to work it, too."

"What's the plan, then?" Emma wanted to know.

"Tomorrow night, he's making his last visit," Purdey explained. "I heard him say as much. I've been waiting this long because I wanted to get as much of my strength back as I could, but I thought I might be able to trap him while he was in the base. It's dark, and his men are too busy helping him carry boxes to be with him all the time. So if I could sneak in the tunnel before him, and then hide in the base once the day patrols were gone…"

"You could lie in wait," Gambit said knowingly. "And do what? Slit his throat?"

"Gambit!" Purdey's face was outraged, but her eyes were guilty.

"Maybe not the knife, but at the very least a gun, or whatever you could lay your hands on." Gambit leaned back, arms folded. "You were going to try and kill him, weren't you? In the shape you're in? With Pym's people inside, and Grey's men outside, who I can tell you from experience shoot first and ask questions later. What were you thinking of, Purdey-girl?" He shook his head. "Never mind. I know. Revenge. And you could have just as easily ended up dead for your efforts."

"It's a good thing you're here then, isn't it?" Purdey snapped back, but Steed intervened before things could get too heated.

"Gambit's right," he said when he had their attention. "It's a bit foolhardy for one, but with four…"

"We could call Grey, have him set a trap," Emma pointed out. "That wouldn't be nearly as risky."

Gambit shook his head sadly. "I would if it were anyone but Grey. But if he snags Pym, then MI12 isn't going to listen when we ask for an inquiry, and he'll keep blackmailing agents to do his dirty work. Besides, you realise we can't go in in an official capacity. Steed and I are officially on leave. Grey would have us dragged back to England before we knew what hit us. So unless things get messy, we've got to watch out for both sides. But I don't know what we'll do if we manage to catch Pym."

Emma looked thoughtful. "My friend in Manaus has a few connections," she said slowly. "If we do catch Pym, I could arrange for him to take custody of the prisoners. Send in forces at the right time, intervene before Grey's people know what's happening."

Purdey smiled knowingly. "And don't forget. I may be missing, but I am still here on assignment. Anything we do can fall under my brief. Grey himself brought me in. For all intents and purposes, I'm part of his team. I can sign the paperwork, take the credit, and it'll still technically be an MI12 matter. That leaves you three out of it. But it'll be my collar, and if I want to start an inquiry…"

Gambit actually smirked. "That sounds mad enough to actually work."

"Then we'd better make an early night of it," Steed pointed out. "There's lots to be done before tomorrow evening." He looked to Emma. "You'll have to be up early if you're going to meet your friend, my dear."

"Mmm." Emma checked her watch. "I'll turn in as soon as I've had dinner."

Steed elected to keep watch, with Gambit taking second shift. Everyone obviously thought Purdey wasn't up to the task, but Purdey was too happy to be having beans on toast for the first time in weeks to be annoyed at the gentle treatment. She didn't even mind Gambit walking her to her tent after dinner. It was nice to have him near, really. She'd missed him terribly all these weeks. Steed too. But Steed was still talking to Mrs. Peel, and even knowing Gambit's interests on that front, she was fairly certain that she was still hanging on to the top spot in his affections. It was just as well. _Someone_ had to keep her fed when they got back to London.

"You can have my tent," Gambit told her, pushing back the flap. "I'll sleep in Steed's until I'm up for watch." He followed her in, pointed out the mattress and the pack beside it. "There's a torch and things in there if you need them." He paused and smiled. "That reminds me..."

Purdey settled onto the mattress and watched him rummage through the pack with interest. Gambit felt around, then grinned, and waggled his eyebrows at her. "What is it?" she wanted to know.

"Guess," Gambit teased, pulling up on whatever it was, but hiding it from view. It crinkled in a way that suggested plastic packaging.

Purdey bit her lip and rolled her eyes heavenward. "Well, it crinkles. And you keep it in the tent. I'd say...condoms."

Gambit made a face. "In the jungle? Give me a little credit. Is that all you think I think about? Sex?"

"Am I wrong?" Purdey said with an innocent smile.

"Yes," Gambit asserted. "But I'm not going to claim purity of mind, either. Anyway." He pulled the packet from behind his back, and Purdey squinted in the dim light. "Dessert."

Purdey's face lit up. "Marshmallows!" She snatched the bag away eagerly and tore into the plastic, popped one morsel of gelatine between her lips. "And the right kind, too. Oh, I've been going through withdrawal." She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, savouring the sweet taste, letting it melt in her mouth.

"Do you need a moment alone?" Gambit quipped, eyeing Purdey's rapturous expression.

She opened one eye and stuck her white-coated tongue at him. "You don't know how to appreciate the finer points. Enjoying marshmallows is an art."

"You do make it interesting to watch," Gambit agreed. "I, uh, thought you'd want something when we found you, and they don't spoil or squish in the pack." He reached out and brushed a bit of white powder from Purdey's cheek, but his fingers lingered a second longer than was strictly necessary. "I'm glad I brought them. Everything's as it should be now."

Purdey swallowed and smiled in gratitude. "They're just what I needed, Mike. Thank you." She leaned in and bestowed a sticky kiss on his cheek, close enough to the corner of his mouth that he could taste her, just the tiniest bit. He wanted to turn his head, to feel her lips against his. He'd never wanted her so badly in his life, to feel her body against his, if only to assure him that she was here, that she was real, that he wouldn't wake up the next day to find it was all a dream, that she was still lost, somewhere far away out of his reach. He knew he was trembling with all the emotions churning through him, knew she could feel it, so close was she, blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. It would be so easy in their emotionally charged state to do anything, to let go and go where the wind took them. But now wasn't the time, here, with Steed and Emma just outside, and Purdey hurt, and him half-dead with exhaustion. So he pulled away, backed away to the tent flap. "Get some sleep," he told her, as steadily as he could. "Call me if something happens with your injuries."

"I'll be fine," Purdey assured, but her voice was faint. She was still clutching the bag of marshmallows, but it seemed forgotten. Her chest was heaving dramatically, and Gambit wondered if he hadn't been the only one pondering an impetuous act. "Good-night, Mike."

"Good-night, Purdey," he replied, and stepped into the cool jungle air, taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart. _Walk away. Walk away before the waters get any deeper._

He obeyed.

***

Not long after Gambit staggered to bed after his turn on watch, Emma Knight was making preparations to leave. Steed also rose early, leaving the snoring Gambit to rejuvenate after the events of the previous day. He found Emma shrugging on her pack, and she smiled at his approach.

"Nothing like a brisk morning walk," Steed commented as he neared her.

"Or hike," Emma corrected, mouth quirked up on one side. "Although it's not as bad as all that. It's not as thought I'm going all the way back to Manaus. My contact has a station up the Amazon. I can radio in from there. But I _will_ be gone most of the day, so I'm leaving you on babysitting duty."

Steed chuckled. "Purdey and Gambit normally do quite well without supervision," he told her. "Sometimes I think I'm not needed."

Emma smiled sadly. "You're always needed, Steed." Her eyes suggested by whom.

"As are you, Mrs. Peel," Steed said quietly, and they stood in silence for a moment, saying a decade's worth without uttering a word. "Will you be back in time?" he said eventually, when it became too much to bear.

Emma blinked, as though breaking from a trance, nodded. "I should be. I wish we had a little more notice, but I think we ought to be all right if I leave now."

"You will be careful?" Steed said seriously, worrying after her for the first time in ages.

"I survived searching for Peter. I'll be fine," she assured, adjusting the straps on her back. "Just save me something for dinner. I'm going to be ravenous!"

Steed smiled again. "Your wish is my command, Mrs. Peel."

***

Purdey prodded Gambit's still form with one hand, then reverted to shaking. "Come on, Mike. That's long enough!"

Gambit started, shot upright in surprise. "What! What is it?"

Purdey made a face at his panicked expression. "Steed wants you up, that's all. I'm going to show you the tunnel today, and there's no reason you should get to lay about while we hike our lives away."

"Oh." Gambit flopped back on his mattress. "And I suppose you volunteered for wake-up duty?"

Purdey grinned wickedly. "Did you miss me?"

"I don't suppose we can convince that tribe to take you back?" Gambit groaned, and Purdey punched him lightly in the arm.

"Get up, Mike Gambit, or I'll eat your breakfast."

"All right, all right, I'm up."

***

Purdey guided them to the spot where she'd seen Pym stop half a dozen times. She already knew how to work the mechanism, but she hadn't been brave enough to scope out the tunnel on her own. She wasn't certain her leg would be able to take the journey, and she'd known she was pushing it already with her daily constitution. But with Steed and Gambit to back her up today, she felt strong enough to make the trip, and when she pried back the moss that concealed the button, and hit it to activate the trap door, she took a little pleasure in watching Steed and Gambit's surprised reactions as the boulder rolled back and the ground slid away. "I did tell you," she said, unable to keep the smugness from her voice. "I don't do badly on my own, you know."

"Only because you learned from the masters," Gambit quipped, digging in his pack for a torch. "We've only been too happy to mould you."

"I hope not," Purdey retorted with a mock shudder, already starting down the set of crude steps hewn into the wall. "Pass me a torch and try to keep up."

Gambit handed her his own reluctantly. "Maybe I ought to go first. If you trip on something you won't do your leg or your ribs much good."

"Then I'll walk carefully," Purdey said stubbornly, flicking on the light. "My tunnel, my discovery, my operation." She shone the beam up at Gambit's face. "Coming?"

Gambit exchanged glances with Steed, but the senior agent shook his head, and Gambit understood. Indulge her. Let her run the show as much as possible. That way she won't feel cheated when the moment comes to set upon Pym with handcuffs instead of a knife. With a sigh, Gambit clambered down after her, with Steed bringing up the rear, each brandishing a torch. Steed checked the mechanism before they went, ensured that there was a way out again should it close in their absence. Then it was down, down the tunnel, Purdey leading the way, with Gambit resting a steadying hand on her back, keeping a close watch lest she tumble. Oddly, Purdey didn't mind. It reminded her of fleeing the 19th Special Commando, letting Gambit take the lead to guide them through the fields while she stayed behind, resting her hands on his back whenever he stopped, taking solace from the fact that she wasn't alone. Now, with the three of them in here, treading the same dirt path on the gentle slope downward, she felt more like herself, like part of a team again. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed it.

The tunnel was sloping up again, and soon they were at the other end, with more stairs leading up, and a dim outline of a trap door barely visible in the ceiling. Another button was stationed on the wall, and Purdey resisted the urge to press it. It was just as well, because she could hear footsteps above, as Grey's people completed the last of their cataloguing in preparation for the shipment. She had heard Pym say time was short before the documents were no longer available. No wonder tonight was their last chance.

She turned back to look at Steed and Gambit, but they were staring at the door, too, mouths closed and breathing silent. Who knew how much would be audible to those above? Steed beckoned for them to retreat back down the tunnel, and Gambit followed obediently. Purdey lingered, torturing her bottom lip. She wanted to see where the tunnel came out before tonight, but with so many people, it would prove impossible. She could feel Steed and Gambit watching her, though, and she turned reluctantly and set after them, this time resting her hands on Gambit's back once more, although now it was more because she could feel herself tiring. Gambit seemed to sense this, and he reached back to grasp her arm just below the elbow. It felt so good to have him close again, Purdey could barely contain the thrumming of her pulse as his fingers held her firm and steady. She smiled in spite of herself. A few weeks in the jungle, and she longing for Mike Gambit in a way she hadn't thought possible, savouring his touch and sureness with which he moved. _It must be something in the air. Or water. Or both._

She indulged her naughty thoughts anyway, and found she was very good at illuminating certain parts of Gambit's physique with her torch. Even if it was his back, there were still things to see that no jungle could match.

They were outside again all too soon, and Purdey closed up the door before turning to face her colleagues. "Well?" she asked expectantly. "What do you think?"

Steed looked thoughtful. "The base itself may boast an inside guard at night, now that we've caused a security breach. That might frighten Pym off..."

Purdey shook her head. "No, he'll come. Grey's crew isn't equipped with enough guards for more than one or two to patrol inside. Pym can take of them relatively easily. After all, he doesn't need to worry about increased security after tonight. Knocking a few people out won't pose a problem."

Gambit nodded. "Purdey's right. If this is his last trip he can afford to leave with them on the alert. He'll find some way to slip out of the country regardless."

Steed sighed. "Going up against both Grey and Pym's men is pushing our odds a bit far."

"Not if we wait for Pym to take care of Grey's men first," Purdey pointed out.

Steed frowned. " 'Take care' may mean 'kill,' Purdey. Don't forget that Grey's people are still British agents and staff." He watched Purdey avert her eyes, but went on regardless. "No, we had better be the ones to see that they don't interrupt. I suggest we break into two teams. Two of us will take the tunnel in and make sure Grey's men are out commission, then lie in wait. The other two will wait for Pym to arrive and follow him up the tunnel. That way we should be able to surround them from both sides, pin them down, and wait for Mrs. Peel's cavalry to ride in and make the arrest." He eyed Purdey's discontented expression. "That's the way it's going to be, I'm afraid. You'll have to let that satisfy your need for revenge."

Purdey didn't look happy about it, but seemed to understand there was nothing she could do. "All right," she relented. "But I can't promise I won't give him a kick."

"Just not too hard," Gambit said cheerfully, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Then we can go home and have that dinner."

Purdey smiled weakly. "I suppose..."

"Speaking of home, we ought to be returning to camp. We'll need some shelter while we wait out Pym, and I'd like to have everything in place when Mrs. Peel comes back. Shall we?" He indicated for them to go ahead, and Purdey limped off, leaning on Gambit for support. She only hoped her leg would be strong enough tonight.


	19. Shoot To Kill

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel is the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Gareth Hunt, who played Mike Gambit in series. Gareth passed away 2 years ago, on March 14, 2007. Rest in Peace, Gareth.

Clearly we're nearing the end of the story, but this is by no means the final update. I've left you with a nice little cliffhanger this time round. A big thank you to everyone who's still reading. I'm going to be pretty busy for the next little while, but I promise to try and update again soon and wrap things up. In the meantime, enjoy the new chapter.

* * *

Steed and Gambit made her wait at the camp, much to Purdey's annoyance, even though her leg was really throbbing now, and her ribs had suddenly decided to join in the chorus. That didn't mean she didn't sulk when Gambit put a gun in her hand and told her to watch out for Emma, or anyone else who wasn't Emma and therefore unfriendly, before setting off with Steed and a spare tent to help set-up a dry, semi-comfortable spot where they could wait out Pym. She'd still protested as loudly as she dared, but Gambit and Steed had treated her to the sort of half-lidded gaze that told her they recognised her old stubbornness surfacing, and while it was nice to have her back, they really weren't in the mood. Gambit advised dryly to look before she shot, just in case it was them. Purdey smiled sarcastically and said she wouldn't shoot them by _accident_. Gambit took this with a grain of salt, and soon she was alone, and as there wasn't much point sulking at the jungle, she propped her chin in her hand and let her mind wander.

"Colt?"

The voice came from just in front of her, and her head snapped up sharply, thinking it was Steed or Gambit back for some reason, but the nickname set her off immediately. The man before her was tall and well-built, with warm blue eyes, light brown hair, and a grin a mile wide. The face was unmistakable.

Jonathan Bryde.

"Dad..." she whispered in awe, knowing full well that she was imagining things, but not caring a jot. Why shouldn't she see him? He was the reason she was here, waiting and wishing Gambit and Steed would allow her a more active role in the proceedings. She gaped at him, not daring to stand, to touch him, lest he dissolve before her eyes.

He smiled again, that warm, sweet smile that always made her feel better no matter what the circumstances. She'd needed that smile after Larry, had wept when she couldn't see it. But now... "How's my girl?"

"Oh, dad," she choked, face crumpling. "Daddy, it's been terrible here. All I can think about is you, and the jungle, and _Pym_." She spat the word, angry tears stinging her eyes. "And how much he took from us." She scrubbed them away, faced up to him. "You should have seen his face when he told me how he did it. He was almost gleeful, the bastard! He wanted me to know how he did it, how he sent those men after mum and me." Her nose was running, and her eyes were on fire, but she didn't care. "He has to be punished. He _deserves_ it."

Jonathan wasn't smiling anymore, not even a bit. "What does he deserve?" he asked quietly.

Purdey's eyes were dark, her face a mask of hate. Had her father been real, he would have taken a step back. "He deserves to die," she growled, voice lower than she knew it could go, eyes burning with hatred. She looked down at her right hand, cradling the gun that Gambit had given her, and lifted it, finger tightening on the trigger. "He deserves to die the way you did, looking me in the eye."

Jonathan sucked in a breath. "Is that what you think I want?"

"It's what we both want!" Purdey screamed. "It's what everyone I care about wants! Mum, Uncle Elly..."

Jonathan was regarding her sceptically. "I think one or two names are missing off that list, don't you?" Purdey's shoulders were heaving with emotion, teeth bared like a wild animal. "You've grown so much, Purdey. I would have been so proud. You know that." She nodded. "Then you know what I really want. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, but someone did. You, your mother. Who else is going to get hurt, Purdey? And who will you blame this time?"

"I'm doing this because I love you," Purdey whispered, trying to make him understand.

Jonathan smiled again. "And that's exactly what you should do. Do what's best for the people you care about, Purdey. That will never, ever steer you wrong."

Purdey blinked in confusion. "But that's what I—"

"Purdey?"

Purdey swung around automatically, acting on instinct to bring the gun up and release the safety. The figure that had emerged from the undergrowth immediately lifted its hands in surrender.

"Hey, I'm on your side," Emma Knight quipped, tongue-in-cheek and eyebrow raised skyhigh.

Purdey snapped from her daze, and lowered the weapon, feeling anger and confusion lose themselves in embarrassment. "Sorry," she apologised, quickly putting on the safety and tucking the gun into her belt. "I'm a little jumpy."

"Well, you stopped before pulling the trigger. That's the important thing." Emma wandered into the centre of the camp and shrugged off her pack. "Gambit and Steed?"

"Off getting things ready for tonight," Purdey informed, wiping away drying tears. "We're going to split into teams."

Emma eyed Purdey's reddened face with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Um, just tired. Everything sorted with your friend?"

Emma didn't look convinced, but didn't push, either. "Yes, we'll have the cavalry, as promised. I gave them your name. They'll say it was you who contacted them and arranged things. I hope you don't mind."

"No," Purdey assured. "That's fine. You'd better get ready. They'll be back soon."

"Right." Emma nodded once, thoughtfully, before ducking into her tent. Purdey slumped in her seat. She needed to rest now. No more straining herself, not even emotionally, if she could help it. But she still couldn't help but wonder—what had her father, or herself, really, been trying to tell her?

Time passed in an instant, and before Purdey knew it, she was staring at a pair of black boots. She looked up to find Gambit staring down at her, face etched with concern. "You're back," Purdey managed.

"Yeah. You okay?" he murmured, dropping into a crouch. "You look like you've been crying."

"I'm not. I mean, I wasn't...I was thinking about my father," she admitted, and Gambit nodded in understanding.

"I know this is hard on you. Everything must remind you of him. But it'll be over soon, and you can move on. You're sure you're up for this?"

Purdey nodded determinedly. "I'm ready."

"So am I." Purdey and Gambit turned toward the voice. Emma emerged, resplendent in a midnight catsuit, finished off with her boots. Gambit's jaw dropped. Steed smiled in appreciation. Truly, it was just like old times.

"Right, then," he told the pair of younger agents. "Last meal, then onward!"

***

They settled in just as the light was beginning to fade, and watched the boulder melt slowly into the shadows. Emma, awake since dawn, settled into the back for a few winks before zero hour. After a moment, Gambit realised that things had gotten terribly quiet in the back. He glanced behind him at the other two occupants of their little hideout. Purdey and Emma were both fast asleep, Purdey's head resting on Emma's shoulder, Emma's against the untidy blonde mane. He sighed wistfully. "Something tells me I'd enjoy that a lot more if I weren't half-asleep."

Steed glanced back at the view and chuckled. "Purdey won't like that. I've a feeling she resents having Mrs. Peel along."

"She thinks she's easy to replace, at least in our eyes," Gambit pointed out. "I'd be jealous, too, if someone with a higher profile waltzed in and got on with the team so well that I might as well stay home. Not to mention she's the one filling Emma's shoes in the long line of lethal ladies." He stretched before continuing. "It's quite the legacy to live up to. I was lucky. You haven't taken on a male colleague since that doctor bloke—Keel, wasn't it?"

Steed nodded. "David Keel. Although there was a Dr. King I contacted on occasion. But you're the first in fifteen years or so." He smiled at the younger man. "And before you ask, you're doing a fine job. I clashed with the good doctor nearly as often as I did you in the early days."

"No moderating influence," Gambit commented, glancing back at Purdey.

"There was, actually. Lovely young nurse by the name of Carol Wilson." Steed smiled fondly. "I wonder what happened to her?"

Gambit whistled as quietly as possible. "You've had a good run of it. All those girls."

"Yes," Steed agreed absently.

"Have a favourite?" Gambit asked with a wicked smile.

"A gentleman never plays favourites," Steed stated in mock horror. "But I won't deny that, sometimes, there's a special case." He glanced back at the sleeping figures, and Gambit did the same.

"I know what you mean," Mike murmured.

***

An hour passed. Purdey drifted slowly into wakefulness, then snapped alert abruptly as Emma's shoulder, heretofore her pillow, slipped from beneath her. She blinked away the sleep in time to see the feline former Emma Peel stretch and yawn. "Anything?" she queried to Steed and Gambit's backs, and the latter turned round to address her.

"Not yet," Mike replied, eyebrows knitted. "I'm starting to wonder if Pym's going to show at all."

"He will," Purdey promised, crawling up to join Steed and Gambit before Emma could. "He has to."

"Well, he'd better hurry up," Gambit muttered, glancing at his luminous watch. "Our cavalry's due in half an hour, and it's going to look bloody stupid, not to mention suspicious, if there's no one there to be locked up."

"Just wait," Purdey temporised, eyes searching the darkness. "He's got too much to lose to not come."

One minute passed, then two. Gambit shifted impatiently. Emma came up to join them, resting her chin companionably on Steed's shoulder. It looked as though Pym would be a no-show after all. Purdey was ready to give up hope, when she heard the distant rumble of an engine.

"Listen!" she hissed urgently, but Steed and Emma were already on their feet.

"That's our cue," Emma whispered back. "We'll take care of Grey's men if we have to and keep an eye on the hatch."

"We'll bring up the rear," Gambit promised, winking at the shapely silhouette, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see it. "I'd say good luck, but I don't think you've ever needed it."

Emma chuckled before disappearing into the night with Steed. Purdey and Gambit heard the sound of the trap door opening, then closing again. A minute later, the vehicle arrived, and Purdey and Gambit watched five figures dismount. One, obviously the leader, set about opening the door again—Pym. Gambit felt Purdey's body tense next to his in anticipation, breathing heavy near his ear. He rested a hand on her arm, just to remind her not to break their cover, and she calmed down considerably.

Four of the five figures started down into the tunnel, the last speaking to the man who remained behind before going underground himself. Gambit and Purdey waited half a minute to be certain that no one was going to double back, before slowly leaving their shelter. It had begun.

The man left on guard duty heard someone tramping through the foliage long before he could see him. Or her, as it turned out. A young woman melted out of the shadows, light hair shining in the moonlight. Despite his orders to shoot anyone who happened by, the guard froze in surprise. Young women were not expected in the middle of a jungle an hour before midnight, but this one seemed quite comfortable in her surroundings, and smiled cheerfully at the guard, despite the gun in his hands.

"Hello," she greeted in perfectly formed tones. "Can you help me?"

"Help?" the guard echoed faintly, feeling more bemused by the second. "How?"

"It's my friend," the woman explained. "I seem to have mislaid him. Always wandering off. Terribly annoying."

"Your…friend?"

"Yes." The woman's smile broadened. "Oh, never mind. There he is."

"Wha--?" The guard started to turn, suddenly aware of a presence behind him, but Gambit's fingers had already sought out the pressure points, and soon the guard was sinking to the ground, dreaming strange dreams about even stranger young women.

"Just a little pressure…" Purdey began.

"At the right point," Gambit finished with a grin, bending to retrieve the man's gun and removing the clip before tossing each into a separate bush. "I always feel a bit bad using you as the distraction. Poor chap never stands a chance."

"Occupational hazard," Purdey dismissed. "You never stand a chance either."

"Don't I know it," Gambit agreed, stepping over the fallen body to follow Purdey into the tunnel. "Ready?"

"I've been ready for a whole month," Purdey reminded. "Let's go."

They made their way down the tunnel in silence, stopped before the trap door to listen for anyone on the other side. Purdey found herself pressed close to Gambit in the confined space, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest against hers. Despite the earth surrounding them, she could smell his scent, and a calm washed over her. Here, alone, in the dark, Pym didn't seem to matter so much. With just her and Mike and the dark, and she felt safe, at home. She wondered vaguely if her mouth brushed against his if he'd interpret it as an accident or intentional, and if he'd reciprocate either way. And if he'd be willing to accept it as an early apology for what would eventually come. But suddenly he was reaching over her shoulder to hit the button, and the whirring kicked in.

"Stay alert," he hissed. "Hopefully Steed and Emma took care of things for us."

She nodded, spell broken, and let Gambit climb up first. The hall was deserted, and he took her hand to help pull her out. They glanced around for a moment, getting their bearings. Gambit hadn't been in this part of the base before, but it was a dead end, leaving only one way to go. He drew his gun and indicated for Purdey to follow.

They found their first man quickly enough, after Gambit had threaded his way back to the main corridor that he and Emma and Steed had explored before. He was clearly with Pym, carrying a box for eventual transport back to the vehicle. Purdey and Gambit ducked behind the nearest wall, waited until he'd passed before tapping on his shoulder. He turned in surprise, only to see Gambit's smiling face, followed by a rapidly approaching fist. His head snapped back, but Purdey was behind him, planting one booted foot in his nether regions, and pushing him forward, doubled-over and off-balance. Gambit finished him off with a neat chop to the neck, and caught his box just before it hit the ground, while Purdey took hold of his collar and lowered him gently down.

"I don't think he liked our party trick," Purdey quipped as Gambit set down the box.

"He'll like it even less when he wakes up," he added, bending to retrieve the man's weapon. The second his eyes were off Purdey, though, the footsteps were echoing down the hall, and he glanced up just in time to see Purdey's retreating back making straight for the cordoned off area. He moved to pursue, but their man wasn't down, and he grabbed Gambit's ankle, twisting and sending the agent down in a heap. Gambit struck him against the temple and went limp, before transferring his attention back to the girl.

"Purdey!" Gambit hissed futilely after her, wishing that he hadn't tripped, knowing that she'd have too much of a head start by the time he was upright again. "Emma!" he exclaimed at the flash of auburn out of the corner of his eye, only now emerging from the corridor to his right. "Emma, stop her!"

To her credit, Emma didn't even hesitate, just caught sight of the fleeing figure and took off in pursuit. Gambit watched with concern. Emma's remarkable abilities aside, he was certain that not one of Steed's former partners could beat the blonde in a foot race. But then Purdey wasn't in peak physical condition, and for once Gambit was glad for the injuries if they meant Emma would be able to stop her before she got herself killed.

It seemed he was right. Emma was rapidly closing the gap, and Gambit hoped she remembered the trigger mechanism from earlier. Purdey was perilously close when Emma left the ground, sailing through the air to grab the girl around the waist. Blonde and redhead went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Purdey immediately tried to struggle out from beneath the older woman, but Emma had been anticipating that, and she soon had Purdey's arms pinned to her sides. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn't have held her, but Purdey's ribs discouraged further struggling. Emma smiled ruefully down at the livid girl.

"Sorry," she said flippantly, "but someone has to save you from yourself." She sighed. "I don't suppose this will do much for friendship."

"Bravo," Purdey muttered sarcastically, glaring over Emma's shoulder as Gambit strode into view. "Traitor," she accused, and tried to look angry, but it was hard to be too intimidating with Emma looming over her like a nanny disciplining a naughty child.

Gambit crouched down beside her, nodded at Emma to let go. She did, rolling off to the side and pushing back a stray lock of hair. Purdey sat up and dusted herself off with as much dignity as she could muster. Gambit knew her pride was hurt, and set about rectifying the situation.

"There's a sensor," he told her, doing his best not to take the resentful looks she was shooting him to heart. "We found it earlier, when we came through last time. Watch." He found a piece of wood, tossed it down the corridor ahead. Immediately the floor opened up, and Purdey was treated to a view of several unforgiving sharp spikes before it closed up again. "See what I mean?" Gambit asked tiredly. "You're not paying attention, Purdey-girl. You're going to get yourself killed if you keep trying to run off on your own."

She didn't look nearly as angry now. In fact, she looked frightened and vulnerable, as though the floor really had fallen out from under her. Gambit cursed under his breath. He didn't want her broken anymore than he wanted her angry. He knew he never should have agreed to this vendetta. Purdey'd been through too much already without taking on Pym for family honour. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and was treated to a ghost of a smile.

"Sorry," she mumbled to both of them, and Gambit smiled back.

"Just be careful. I'm sure Emma doesn't relish tackling you anymore than you do."

Emma smiled too, in agreement. "I've got my own supply of enemies without making one of you as well," she commented, reaching out a friendly hand to help Purdey up. Gambit offered her one, too, and between the pair of them they got her on her feet.

"How have things been at your end?" Gambit queried, giving Purdey time to dust herself off and run out of sulk.

"Steed and I split up," Emma explained. "Grey's upped the guard quotient to four, and their patrols were to regular to wait by the trap door. I've taken two, and I haven't seen others, so I suspect Steed's been busy."

Gambit nodded, doing the math. "Pym's got three men with him, plus the one waiting outside. Purdey and I put him to sleep. Do you think Pym's noticed that no one's making rounds?"

Emma shook her head. "No one was when we were here, either. He's got no reason to be suspicious."

"Certainly not anymore." Steed's voice came from the opposite end of the corridor, across the death trap. He sauntered over to the edge, and waited for Gambit, Purdey, and Emma, to gather across the way. "I've taken care of both guards. Add that to your friend down the hall and that leaves Pym and two minions."

"The odds look better all the time," Purdey observed with an odd glint in her eye.

"Yes..." Steed agreed, frowning at her silhouette. Something about her voice made him uneasy. "I say we split up again, try to net the last three and meet up here to wait for the cavalry. Purdey, stay with Gambit."

Purdey scowled like a spoiled child. "I'll be all right!" she insisted, almost stomping her foot.

"All the same..." Steed's voice was stern, warning. "Ten minutes, then meet up. I'm not taking any chances." The last part seemed to be directed at Purdey, but the girl said nothing as the senior agent drifted away.

"I'll take the high road," Emma informed briskly, setting off down the branch corridor from whence she came. "Good luck hunting."

"Thanks," Gambit said distractedly, eyes on Purdey. "We'll take the main route." He waited until Emma was out of sight before crossing his arms. "Steed doesn't know you made a break for it just now. Why did he remind you to stay put?"

She shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "I don't know. Worried after me because I'm hurt, I suppose. Anyway, you're not much better."

"No," Gambit agreed. "I'm not. But I know when Steed's got something else on his mind, and you are definitely it."

Purdey clenched her teeth. "Look, what does it matter? You trust me, don't you?"

Gambit softened immediately. "Of course I do. With my life."

"Then let's get on with things," Purdey said in a voice that shook, padding off down the hall. Gambit made after her, grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But this whole thing's got me paranoid. You were missing for so long..."

"I know." She reached out and patted his shoulder. "This hasn't been easy for anyone. But it'll be over soon."

"Right," Gambit agreed. "Let's see what we can find."

They walked a moment before Purdey froze, eyes wide. "Oh no."

Gambit was immediately scanning their surroundings for a threat. "What is it?"

"I need to see Emma," Purdey said urgently.

"What? Why?" Gambit wanted to know.

"The trap door," Purdey explained, biting her lip. "There's a trick to the mechanism. It locks from the outside."

"I'm sure Emma can figure it out," Gambit dismissed, but Purdey was insistent.

"She may not have _time_ to figure it out if she's in trouble." She looked beseechingly at Gambit. "I think at least Steed or Emma should know, in case they need to get out in a hurry. Just let me go after her. I'll be all right. She can't be too far. I won't be on my own for long."

Gambit worked his jaw. He didn't want to let Purdey off on her own in her condition, physically or emotionally, and obviously neither did Steed, but Emma deserved to know if something was odd about the mechanism. "All right, we'll go back."

"No," Purdey countered. "You need to check for Pym's men. You can't do that if you're following me. No, it's better if I find Emma, then meet you ten minutes from now at the rendezvous."

"But Steed—"

"Steed will understand," she said firmly. "We're wasting time, Mike. Just let me go."

Gambit was obviously torn between duty and necessity, but Purdey knew when his shoulders slumped that she'd won the battle. "All right," he said wearily. "Just watch yourself, and don't take too long finding her. If she's gone too far, find me again."

"I will." Purdey smiled crookedly, eyes moistening for reasons he didn't understand. Before he knew, her arms were around his waist, hugging him tight. "Thank you."

Gambit blinked in surprise, letting one arm curl round her protectively. "For what?"

"For taking all this trouble," she said into his shoulder. "I'm so sorry for all the trouble, Mike."

Gambit patted her back affectionately. "Nothing to be sorry about. None of it's been your fault, and this...well, I'd press home my advantage, but now's not the best time…"

"I know." Purdey pulled away quickly, clasping her hands behind her back like a guilty schoolgirl. "I'm being silly."

Gambit grinned. "If that's silly, I like it. Save it for later."

Purdey smiled nervously, started to back down the hall. "Wouldn't you like that…"

"I'd like a lot of things," Gambit replied, watching her go before turning to set off down the hall. He could hear Purdey's footsteps take off in the opposite direction, and wondered if he'd done the right thing.

***

Two minutes later, Mike Gambit heard the sounds of a scuffle. Worried for Purdey's safety, he took hurried off in the direction of the fight, wondering if any of his other allies would make it to the scene before he did.

It didn't matter, as it turned out. Emma Knight was prodding a prone man with one foot, satisfied he was down for the count. She glanced up at the sound of running feet, just in time to see Gambit come round the corner. He slowed to a quick walk when he saw the victim, came to a stop just short of the unconscious man's hand. "I thought I heard something," he murmured, eyeing the victim, clearly one of Pym's lot.

"Well, you're a bit late to come to the rescue," Emma said unnecessarily, bending to retrieve the fallen man's gun. "As you can see."

"Yes," Gambit agreed, impressed at Emma's handiwork once again. "Didn't need Purdey, either, I take it?"

Emma frowned slightly. "No," she agreed. "Why would I?"

Gambit realised that the blonde was absent for the first time. "Where is she, then?" he queried, casting about for the familiar silhouette, panic starting to rise in his chest.

Emma noticed his upset, furrowed her brow. "I've no idea," she said truthfully. "Last I knew she was with you."

"She told me she was going to meet you. She said there was something about the trap door you needed to know." Gambit was definitely panicking now, hands running absently through the dark hair.

"She never arrived." Emma looked concerned. "Do you think she was captured?"

"Maybe," Gambit said absently, cursing under his breath. "I never should have left her on her own. But it seemed all right. She didn't have far to go..."

"When was this?" Emma pressed.

"Few minutes ago."

"Then there may still be time. Come on, we'll retrace her steps."

"Right." Gambit reached for his gun, but grasped only empty air. He glanced down, pulling his jacket away to reveal a holster that was most definitely missing a Smith and Wesson. "My gun..." he said faintly, eyes confused, but then memory flooded back, and he remembered Purdey backing away after embracing him, hands behind her back. Her hands had been sliding all over underneath his jacket. He wouldn't have noticed the subtle tug as she freed the weapon from the holster. Just the way he hadn't a million years ago, when Purdey Bryde, as she was then, had looked him in the eye and let her body do the work while her hands plucked away his gun at the target range. 1975. A million years ago. Same old trick. And he'd fallen for it as hard as last time. _Damn._

But this time it wasn't to show off, or prove a point. This time Purdey could only want a gun for one reason, and one reason only. Revenge.

"She hasn't been captured," Gambit said darkly, holding Emma's eyes with his. "She took my gun. She's going to kill Pym."

Emma's eyes widened. "There's still another man out there!" she reminded. "And she's hurt!"

"That's why we need to move," Gambit asserted, breaking into a run. "If you were Pym, where would you be?"

"Storage," Emma called after him. "The boxes."

"And Purdey would know that," Gambit concluded.

"Know what?" Steed was to their left, down another corridor, but he hurried after the two figures and caught up in good time.

"I let her get to me," Gambit explained angrily. "I should have known when she teared up. She was asking me to forgive her." He swore some more. Idiot! Letting his body and his emotions get in the way. But it was Purdey. Purdey couldn't....no, Purdey _could_. Purdey was stubborn when she put her mind to it. And, although Gambit hated to admit it, she wasn't thinking straight. She was obsessed. "If we don't hurry," he told them, "someone's going to end up dead."

***

Purdey strode purposefully down the corridor, searching for the area with the boxes Gambit had mentioned. She had a feeling Pym would be there, and when she saw another of his men exiting laden with files she knew she was in the right place. She raised Gambit's revolver, so strong and sure in her hand, and pointed it his way.

"Drop it," she ordered, voice icy.

Pym's man started, and did as he was bid, scrabbling for his own gun, but Purdey was faster, quickly closing the distance between them and driving one knee up into his groin before striking his bent head forcefully with the butt of her gun. He sank to the floor without a sound, but Purdey was already moving with military like precision for the door to the room where her prey lurked, ready to be cut down just as her father before him.

It took her awhile for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. It was dark in the corridor, certainly, but this was a new, deeper, blacker darkness that threatened to swallow her whole. She could just barely make out the shapes of the stacked boxes, but it was the human-shaped blob that absorbed her full attention, rummaging near the back of the warehouse-like space. She trod carefully, gun at ready, not willing to alert him of her presence until she had him where she wanted him. How she wanted him.

As it was, she was perhaps half a dozen steps away when Pym turned round, whether to leave or just to check for the return of his men, she didn't know. But he definitely saw her, just as she saw him, and the hand that darted toward his gun.

"Don't even think about it," she warned, cut-glass tones echoing menacingly in the hollow space, making her sound louder, omnipresent. The click as she withdrew the safety was equally audible, almost as loud as a shot. "I don't particularly care if you're maimed when I do you in. So drop it and kick it this way. Please."

Pym, to his credit, seemed to recognise that she was serious, and he did as he was bid, setting the weapon down carefully, before kicking it her way. It slid effortlessly across the concrete, gently nudging her booted foot before coming to a stop. Purdey used her foot to nudge it off to the side, in among the boxes where no one would could find it soon. Only then did she take a step. And then another.

"Miss Bryde," Pym identified, although they both already knew that introductions were unnecessary. "I thought I'd seen the last of you when you took that fall."

"Yes, well, I'm rather hard to kill, as quite a few in the prisons would tell you. If you ever made it that far."

Pym arched his eyebrow at the implications of that statement. "Not planning on turning me in, then?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Purdey said with mock-sweetness. "I have every intention, just as soon as the coroner arrives."

Pym snorted, a derisive half-chuckle. "So we're not that different after all. You'd gun me down just the way I did your father, no matter which side you claim to be on."

"I don't happen to be on anyone's _side_ at the moment, other than my own," Purdey informed icily. "And you can twist it whichever way you like, but this isn't even close to the same circumstances."

"How the hell do you know? You weren't there. You didn't see him. Do you know, if he'd been half as bloodthirsty as you, _I'd_ have died eleven years ago." He could obviously sense Purdey's surprise at the statement, even if he couldn't see her, and went on. "He chased me, and he found me, and he had a gun to the back of my neck. One shot and there wouldn't have been any problems. His people would have dismissed it as necessary, just as yours will. But I'll say this for old Johnny Bryde—he had his own code, line in the sand. You knew where you stood with him. That was his undoing in the end. One of my men interrupted us. Bryde got him. And I got Bryde. Funny how things work out, isn't it?" She could almost hear his smile in the darkness. "But the oddest thing was, you could tell he didn't regret it, not completely. You could see it in his eyes that he knew he'd made his worst mistake by not killing me, that he was going to pay for it, but some small part of him was still damnedly proud that he hadn't gone the revenge route. The apple fell far from the tree on that one, didn't it?"

"You're lying," Purdey hissed, not wanting to contemplate her father's last moments. "You shot him down in cold blood, and he never stood a chance."

"Your father was a good agent. You know it. I know it. He had a history with me, I'll grant you that But do you really believe he'd gun me down just like that?"

Purdey's heart was pounding. She could see her father, the man she'd loved and trusted, the man who'd been her first audience when she danced, the man who had made her mother so very happy. She couldn't picture him vengeful, except after the attack on her and her mother. But even then, it seemed, he couldn't let himself be swayed. She was digesting this revelation when the room was suddenly flooded with light, and she could hear multiple sets of feet pounding toward her.

"Purdey!" Three voices rang out in unison, but Gambit's was the nearest. Purdey didn't dare turn round, her father's undoing by distraction too fresh in her mind.

"Don't come any closer," she warned. "I'll shoot!"

"She'll shoot anyway," Pym said flatly, regarding the new arrivals with interest. "Mrs. Peel. It's been years."

"Not nearly long enough," Emma snapped back, but half her attention was on Purdey.

"Did you know, I ran into Peter not long after I came out here. Course, I would have sent a postcard if I'd known you wouldn't turn me in. Shame about the divorce. And you." He transferred his attention to Steed. "You were the reason Knight Industries let Bryde in, weren't you? The great John Steed, drawing the widowed Peel into a web of espionage, and all her wonderful connections with her. Pity we were never travelling in the right circles to face off."

Purdey blinked. "What? What's he talking about?"

"Why, I was working in conjunction with Knight Industries when your father was allowed in to investigate my goings on. I fled to Brazil shortly afterwards." Pym grinned, obviously sensing an opportunity. "Didn't they tell you?"

"You mean Emma Peel knew who killed my father before I did?" Purdey roared.

"I didn't know anything," Emma tried to soothe. "They contacted me through Steed, and I told the board of directors it was all right with me if they approved it. I was hardly involved with the company at that point. I was working with Steed."

"If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't have died!" Purdey screamed. "Both of you!"

"Now Purdey—" Steed tried.

"No." She shook her head angrily, biting back tears. "I'm sick of this. Sick of the lies. That's all they feed you in this business. You, Grey, him." She jerked her gun at Pym. "Lies. And I've suffered for them. I paid for them. I had a right to know what happened, and no one told me the whole story. This ends here, because I say so." There was a mad glint in her eye that Gambit found frightening. Pym, however, was ignoring the girl in favour of the young male agent.

"Now you," Pym went on, unconcerned, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You're new." He waited for an introduction, but under the circumstances, no one was forthcoming. "Anyone going to clue me in on who the boy wonder here is? Miss Bryde, you must know. Little friend?"

"Big friend," Gambit growled in warning. "Purdey, don't listen. Can't you see he's goading you?"

"I'm not an idiot, Gambit," Purdey snapped, and Pym's eyes lightened with recognition. "Anything you want to confess? Because everyone here seems to have some sort of connection to what happened in 1966. Maybe you sold Pym the gun he used to kill my father?"

Gambit was about to point out that she was seeing conspiracies everywhere now, but Pym broke in. "Mike Gambit," he said with dawning realisation. "You used to race cars, didn't you? Not bad on the amateur circuit, crashed a lot on the pros. Too bad you retired when you did. I thought you showed promise."

Gambit felt his skin crawl at the mere idea of Purdey's father's killer watching him drive. He ignored him and focussed on Purdey instead.

"Purdey, you've been through a lot," he soothed. "You promised you wouldn't do this, and I know you wouldn't lie to me—at least, not about that--so you're obviously not thinking straight. Just calm down and give me the gun."

Purdey shook her head, taking another step toward Pym, then another.

"Think of what the Ministry will say," Steed tried. "And Grey's men. If you kill him, how are you going to answer their questions? They certainly won't believe it was self-defence without an investigation, and no one wants that."

"They should have thought of that before they sent me out," Purdey replied, eyes and voice wrapped in pent-up anger. She was close enough to touch Pym now, and she did, pressing the barrel of her gun against his forehead. The man was actually starting to sweat now, realising that Purdey was deadly serious, and that her colleagues likely wouldn't be able to save him from his fate.

"What about all the other people he's killed?" Emma pointed out. "There must be dozens of families that have lost someone because of him. They're not here to pull the trigger. Why should you have that privilege? They'll only see justice done if you bring him in to be charged."

"They'll read about it in the papers," Purdey dismissed. "And they'll know he's paid. But it has to be me. I'm here. I'm the one who went into this whole bloody business to understand why he left. And I'm the one with the gun, so everyone else can go to hell!" She was crying again, more tears stinging her cheeks angrily, making it hard to see, but she pressed the barrel even harder to Pym's skull. "There's nothing you can say that'll make me change my mind."


	20. The Long Way Home

Brazil

by J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. Emma Peel and Tara King are the property of Canal+Image. This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Timeline: Sixth in a series. Takes place in late February/early March, 1977, near the start of the second season, probably shortly after the events of _Hostage_ and the year-later bits of _Gnaws _and _The Last of the Cybernauts...?_ It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary, _and _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit._

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Yes, the end has come. This is the final chapter. This fic was meant to get me through some busy times when I would only have time to edit, not write, and it's served its purpose well. Six months of updates. I'm very pleased at how well this story's gone down, and I've loved getting all the positive reviews. They've been much appreciated. I hope you enjoy the conclusion to the story, and stay tuned for further adventures with our favourite triumvirate.

Cheers!

* * *

"Purdey."

She only noticed Gambit's voice because he'd been silent for so long, and it cut into her consciousness, delving deep into her brain and refusing to be ignored.

"Purdey," Gambit pleaded, emotion threatening to break his voice. "Purdey, put the gun down. Trust me, you don't want to do this." _You don't want to become me_.

"I've killed before," she growled, voice barely recognizable. "I can handle it. I have to."

"This isn't the same," Gambit countered forcefully, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat and was threatening to render him mute. He needed his voice, needed to make her understand. "When you kill because you have to, that's one thing, because you know that there's nothing else you could have done, except die yourself. But this. This is an execution. Cold, calculated. And when you do it, you know you've got a hundred other choices, but you're choosing to be kill anyway. And that does something to you. You go to bed, and you _remember._ You remember every expression on his face, and every thought that went through your mind, and every chance you had to avoid being a killer." He closed his eyes. Purdey could tell, even though she wasn't looking at him. She could just tell. "And when you do it when you're so close to him, the way you are now…" He paused and suppressed a shudder. "It's messy. It's everywhere. Head goes inside out, and you can feel the wet, and the stickiness, and you can smell it. Goes up your sinuses and stays, and even the next day when you've rinsed it out of everything, you can still smell it, and you can still see the spray, and hear the shot. And you think, who the hell would do that? On purpose?" His voice was shaking now, violently, and Purdey finally tore her eyes away from Pym to look at him. His eyes were still closed, and she knew he was somewhere else, someplace that went far beyond her, and Pym, and Brazil. "And then you pull out the reasons," Gambit went on, "and the decisions, and the human part of your brain doesn't understand them, so the calculating bit kicks in to try and make some sort of sense out of it. And then that part takes control, because you go mad otherwise. And one day, one day, you wake up and you can't smell the blood because you smell it all the time, and you're used to it, and you know you've gone too damn far, and there's nothing anyone can do." He took a ragged breath, as though the words had torn at his soul and part of his life essence had drained away. "You don't want to be that person, Purdey. Trust me. No one does. No one deserves that, least of all you. If you kill him, then you'll give up the one advantage you have in this game, and that's your humanity. It makes you tick. Don't throw it away."

Steed and Emma were looking on in horrified fascination. Clearly Gambit's confession came from experience, and from Steed's expression he had some idea as to what it was. Purdey certainly didn't, couldn't think of an instance in their partnership that would be so painful for him to recall that he had to screw his eyes shut just to talk about it. She was really looking at him now, and as he opened them again, there was something in his face that took hold, that shook her from her bloodlust. Gambit looked frightened, his eyes pleading as he stretched out his hand for the weapon. But it wasn't just the fear. It was the face. The face that was thinner than it ought to have been, too drawn, too pinched, too tired, too...sad. The face that had logged each and every day she had been missing with startling accuracy. She'd done this to him, not intentionally, but by choosing to stay on without telling anyone. She could have made contact if she had really wanted to—it would have been hard, but not impossible. But she'd been so afraid of what would happen, that she'd lose the chance to catch the man that had destroyed her life all those years ago. She didn't think it would impact anyone but her. Then she remembered her imagined father's words--Gambit's words, spoken as he bandaged her leg, lodged somewhere in her subconscious. The people she cared about...

She thought she'd been fighting _for_ them, but she could see now that she'd only been selfishly hurting those who meant the most to her. It would have been better to put in a request for Gambit's help than to leave him to suffer all these weeks. It would have been kinder. But she hadn't been thinking about him. Only herself.

That was wrong. So, so wrong. And the longer she looked at Mike, the wronger it seemed. Then she looked at Steed, and it was like a blow to the gut. Even Emma caused a twinge of guilt. They had agreed to help her on this assignment, against their better judgment, risking their own lives and careers. It had been too much to ask, but they hadn't thought twice about agreeing. And she hadn't lived up to her part of the bargain.

She turned back to Pym, looked at the sweat trickling down his forehead around the gun barrel pressed against his skin. It would be so easy. No one would be able to stop her in time. She wanted this man to pay for what he had done to her. That hadn't changed. That would never change.

But she wanted Gambit—her Gambit, not the haunted man—back even more.

She couldn't do this. Not to him.

"I'm not letting you take anything else," she told Pym, who frowned in puzzlement at her words. But she was hardly paying any attention to him anymore. He seemed irrelevant. Slowly, carefully, she lowered the gun, gently easing the safety back into position. Gambit stepped forward quickly, hand closing gently around hers, pulling the weapon from her grasp, and handing it over to Emma. The other woman took charge immediately. Purdey watched her corner Pym, watched Steed move to her side, and suddenly felt herself go limp, weak, completely slack as one month of tension and fear and hate and uncertainty and bloodlust and vengeance flowed out of her, leaving her nothing but the desire to fold to the ground exhausted. But before she could, Gambit's arms were there, steadying her collapsing frame and pulling her close so she could lean her suddenly unbearably-heavy head against his chest. It was so solid, and the heartbeat beneath so soothing, she turned her face into it and let herself shake and cry, this time with relief. She didn't care how she looked to anyone. It was over. One month, eleven years, whatever. The uncertainty, the fear, the perpetually angry mindset, all gone. For the first time since Grey had ushered her into McKay's office, she felt like herself again. Gambit held her tight, stroking her hair and making soothing noises, understanding, somehow, that she needed to let everything out.

"Welcome back, Purdey-girl," he said quietly, and her heart lifted with thoughts of home.

"It's good to be back," she whispered, and tipped her head up so she could look at his face. He still looked tired, but there was relief where before there had only been terror and ghostly memories. His eyes were alive again, the flicker of humour reignited. She wanted to say something, to thank him, to ask him how he knew so much, but she was so tired, the words refused to come. So she just smiled, and he smiled back, and all seemed right with the world.

It was at that moment that dozens of footsteps sounded in the corridor, and soon a team of black-clad men burst into the room, armed and very dangerous. Purdey felt Gambit's arms tighten around her, and she found her own footing, ready to defend against the unexpected threat, but Emma motioned for them to relax. Already the leader of the group was approaching her, while others moved purposefully toward Pym. Through the door, she could see more men restraining the guard she'd disposed of earlier, and something told her there were throughout the base, taking care of Pym's men and placating Grey's.

Emma was approaching Purdey and Gambit with the leader in tow, followed by Steed. "It's all right," she told the pair. "This is the man my friend contacted. Davi Sperafico of the Centro de Informações do Exército. The Army Intelligence Centre."

"The CIE," Gambit said in recognition. "I worked in conjunction with one of your lot, a few years back, when I was still army. Mike Gambit." He held out his hand and the man shook it.

"Ah, Captain Gambit, was it not?" Sperafico spoke accented, yet completely understandable, English. "I remember your file passing over my desk."

"It was Major when I left, actually," Gambit corrected with a smile, and caught Purdey's eye.

"You do get around, don't you Mike Gambit?" she said dryly.

"It's a talent," Gambit replied with a wink.

Sperafico had transferred his attention to Purdey. "And this is the young lady? Purdey?"

"Yes," Purdey confirmed, taking the offered hand. "Purdey Bryde."

Sperafico arched an eyebrow. "Bryde? Any relation to...?"

"Yes," Purdey repeated, eyes flicking to Pym. "But I'd just as soon that didn't go any farther. Just Purdey, please."

"_Pois nao_," the Brazilian agent agreed. He turned to address the group as a whole. "My men will take care of all of Pym's men."

"There's one outside, too," Purdey revealed. "Around back, by the car. There's a tunnel that leads outside."

"So I have been told. Some of my men have been dispatched. They will also see to it that Sr. Grey's men are kept away until you have left. Purdey, you will have to stay on to help us with our report. It will be you that we will say contacted us and asked for us to enter the base. Once you have filled out the paperwork, we will hand Sr. Pym over to your authorities as promised, and you may return home. You." He addressed the rest of the group. "Sra. Knight told us that you are officially in Canada." He extracted an envelope from his jacket and handed it to Steed. "There are plane tickets for an early flight to Toronto, and after a short layover, to England. I suggest you leave immediately and break up your camp. Purdey will fly out later this morning."

Steed was examining the tickets. "These will do nicely," he approved. "Thank you."

"I am glad to be of service. These men have been causing trouble for years. We are happy to be rid of them." He turned to Purdey. "Sr. Grey's men will come soon. We cannot keep them out forever. It was difficult to gain entrance, even though it is our jurisdiction, and they will not leave us alone for long."

Purdey nodded. "I understand. Just give me a moment to say good-bye."

Sperafico nodded in agreement. "_Ate mais tarde_."

Purdey smiled gratefully. "_Obrigado_," she thanked, and waited until he had excused himself before turning back to her team. "Thank you," she told the trio. "I know I took a wrong turn, but you don't know how grateful I am you let me do this."

"Nonsense. That's what friends are for," Steed enthused. "I'm just grateful you didn't go through with it in the end. And that you were here to be found." Purdey smiled and gave him a hug before moving on to Emma.

"You too, Ms. Knight. I owe you for keeping an eye on these two while I was gone."

"They were reasonably well-behaved," Emma quipped with a wink. "And I won't say I'm sorry it came right before a Knight board meeting." She offered a hand, and Purdey shook it without qualms for the first time.

That left Gambit, and Purdey watched Steed and Emma drift off to a corner before speaking. He was grinning at her, but there was an uncertainty in his eyes. "Don't worry," she assured, squeezing his shoulder. "I won't disappear again."

"You'd better not. I've got enough insect bites to last me a decade. I don't think there's a patch of skin they haven't chewed up." Purdey laughed in spite of herself, but stopped when Gambit lifted her chin so he could look in her eyes. "Take great care of yourself, Purdey. I don't think I can do this again."

"I'll be fine," she promised. "I have the very attractive Sr. Sperafico to look out for me while you're gone. Before you know it, we'll be back in London having that dinner you promised me. It is still on?"

"Of course it is. Someone's got to keep you fed." They shared a chuckle that devolved into more smiles. "Be seeing you, Purdey-girl," he murmured, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She watched him walk away to join Steed and Emma, then returned the wave all three sent her way. Then they were gone, ushered off by Sperafico's men. She sighed wistfully, wishing she could go with them, but there was still unfinished business. Turning, she made her way over to the CIE man.

"Right," she began, brushing her hair from her eyes. "What do you need me to do?"

***

They gave her her suitcases back, and installed her in the same hotel room that she had occupied one month earlier. Purdey retrieved her passport and thought about everything that had happened since she had left the room weeks before. It seemed like no time at all had passed, with the breeze ruffling the curtains, and the sounds of the city outside. But the next evening, back in England, when she found herself trudging down the 21 steps to her flat, and opened the door, it felt like the opposite—a million years since she had slept here, eaten here, talked to Steed and Gambit about the assignment. And yet nothing had changed. Obviously Steed and Gambit, ever the optimists, had retained a cleaning lady, because the flat was spotless, not a trace of dust to be found. They'd planned for her to come back, and that felt good. Almost as good as the bath she ran for herself and settled into luxuriously. And the bed with the clean sheets that she pulled around her with a sigh. She turned over and hugged her pillow. Life was good.

She was looking at the chair by her bed now, and for the first time she noticed something draped over the arm. In the dying light it was hard to make out, and she was tempted to wait until morning to investigate rather than leave the wonderful sheets. But Purdey's curiousity always got the better of her, and she was soon clambering out of the bed to see what the dark shape was.

As soon as she had the light on, it became clear that it was the infamous jacket, which she presumed had been left out by Emma when she was packing. But as Purdey picked it up to put away, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Purdey frowned and bent to retrieve it, held it under the lamp so she could read the untidy scrawl. She grinned at the short note.

_You don't have to give it back if it's a gift._

It wasn't signed. It didn't have to be. She knew Mike's writing as well as she did her own. She held the jacket up, then buried her nose in it. More than a year now, and it still smelled of him, despite its days in her closet. It still smelt of home. She switched off the lamp, climbed back into the bed, and fell asleep with the jacket in her arms and a smile on her face.

***

Gambit tapped a cheery tattoo on Purdey's door until he saw movement behind the curtain. When it swung open, he was greeted by a bleary-eyed Purdey, rubbing her face sleepily as she tried to focus on Gambit's smiling visage.

"Isn't it a bit early for you to be demonstrating your sense of rhythm?" she said acridly.

"Nonsense. It's a beautiful day, and here you are, sleeping it away," Gambit chastised, all aglow. "Can I come in?"

"It's half past eight," Purdey pointed out as Gambit sidled past, leaving her to close the door behind them. "By your clock, that's not even close to breakfast. What are you doing up at this hour?" She cast an eye over Gambit's perpetual grin and bright eyes and felt her heart sink. "Mike," she moaned, rubbing her temples. "How many cups of coffee did you have this morning?"

"A few," Gambit answered vaguely.

"How many on them were intravenous?"

"Just the first one," Gambit replied with a wink. "Come on, Purdey. You're back. I haven't felt this good all month."

"How nice for you," Purdey muttered.

Gambit grin only got wider. "Even nicer for you. I'm taking you out."

"Out where?" Purdey asked suspiciously, unsure of what Gambit's unusual buoyancy meant for her.

"Wherever your heart desires. I know you must be planning on making a trip to rejoin society. And I also know that you can't drive with that leg."

"I was going to take my bike," Purdey protested. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," Gambit insisted. "Come on, Purdey. You've been stuck in the Amazon for a month, hiking through the undergrowth. Least I can do is ferry you around, help cushion the culture shock."

Purdey arched an eyebrow. "Culture shock?"

"I think the trousers are half an inch longer than when you left."

Purdey splayed a hand across her brow as though stricken. "Horrors!" She shared Gambit's grin. "But it's only fair to warn you, it won't exactly be the most exciting of outings. Just errands. Stock up on provisions…"

"Get a manicure," Gambit suggested, rubbing his arm ruefully where her nails had dug in during that impromptu first-aid session. "For my sake. You could kill the way they are now."

"Don't tempt me."

"Look." Gambit took a step toward her. "We'll make a day of it. I'll take you to lunch. I did promise you as much."

"You promised me dinner."

"We'll have both, then."

Purdey pouted. "That's not fair. You know I can't turn down a meal, let alone two."

"It's working, isn't it?"

"Mike Gambit, I think you're desperate for my company," Purdey said smugly, eyes confident.

"That and your eyes back," he murmured, parting her overlong bangs so he could get a better view of the bright blue pools. "You might want to add a haircut to the list if you don't want to bang into things. Besides, you know how lonely I get."

"You had Mrs. Peel for that," Purdey reminded tartly, although the gentle sweeps of Gambit's fingers as they cleared away the hair took some of the sting out of her words.

"You know it's not the same thing with Emma," Gambit chided gently. "Although I'm curious as to why you find her relationship with me so interesting. You're not jealous by any chance?"

Purdey bristled. "Of course not," she said hastily. "I just hope you're not making a mistake and putting all your hopes on some woman who's—"

"Not you?" Gambit asked knowingly.

She blushed. "I was going to say not suitable, but really, I have better things to worry about than your love life."

"Then why did your sun burn just get darker?" Gambit observed, smile playing on his lips. "By the way, how's your leg?"

"Healing nicely," she replied, taking refuge in the new topic.

"Doesn't need a touch-up by any chance?" Gambit queried, blue-green eyes sliding downwards while Purdey tried not to be swayed by his gaze. "I wouldn't mind putting my healing hands to work again. Particularly there."

For a moment, she could almost feel his touch again, resisted the urge to let him make it a reality. "I'll manage," she breathed, well-aware she flushing even more. Gambit washed her deepening colour with vague amusement.

"Darker still," he quipped. "Must have left the curtains open while you were sleeping."

"All right," Purdey gave in. "I'll go. Give me fifteen minutes."

"No hurry," Gambit replied, taking a seat on the couch. "I've been waiting for you for four weeks. Half an hour more won't kill me"

She shook her head. He really was impossible, wonderfully so. She'd missed him.

***

"Finished already?" Gambit commented, without looking up from his paper, as Purdey climbed in the passenger door of the Jag.

"Well, there wasn't as much to be done as I'd thought," Purdey explained.

"No? But you said—" He broke off as he looked up at her finally, mouth dropping open in surprise. The hair had hardly been touched. Smoothed out and tamed, certainly, but nowhere near the sleek bob he been accustomed to. It was a shaggier cut, layered. Purdey sighed in exasperation as he tried to form sentences. He'd had the exact same reaction when she had cut her hair the last time, and it was just as tiresome now.

"Honestly, Gambit, if you're going to act this way every time I change my hair, you'll spend an awful lot of your life looking like a bird that's hit a windscreen."

"No bob?" Gambit managed.

"No bob," Purdey confirmed. "I decided to go with it, have a change. Nothing wrong with change, is there?"

"As long as you don't change too much," Gambit allowed, and she could hear the relief in his voice. "You came back intact. That's enough for me."

She smiled appreciatively. "What do you think? Really?"

"I think it'll take some getting used to, but...I like it," Gambit admitted. "I always thought you were beautiful with longer hair. When we met you wore it well."

Purdey grinned. "Well, it's going to get longer, so that's just as well." She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for the compliment."

Gambit looked very pleased. "What'll I get for an ode to your dress?"

"A job at _Vogue_," Purdey quipped.

Gambit looked thoughtful. "Do they need someone to supervise the models?" he wondered.

"Don't push it," Purdey warned.

Gambit snapped out of his reverie. "Right. Ready to make your debut?"

"Very."

"Think your leg will take the strain on the walk down the corridors?" Gambit wanted to know, looking concerned.

"Don't worry about me," Purdey replied.

Gambit shook his head. "Sorry. That's not an option."

"Then worry a little less. I'll be fine. I have Grey as motivation. And if I fall, you'll be there to catch me."

Gambit seemed satisfied with this explanation. "Let's go, then. I'm looking forward to this."

***

Steed's car was waiting for them in front of the Ministry, the man himself leaning casually against the bodywork, umbrella swinging lazily. He looked nothing like a man who had just returned from the Amazon. _But if he had, he wouldn't be Steed,_ Purdey thought fondly as she climbed out of Gambit's Jaguar. Mike himself followed her to greet the senior agent, but Purdey was surprised to see a decidedly feminine silhouette in Steed's passenger seat. She nudged Gambit gently in the ribs, pointed her chin at the figure as they approached. Steed noticed the gesture, and grinned.

"I brought someone along," he told the pair when they came to a stop beside him. "We're planning on lunch afterwards. I hope you don't mind."

"No," Purdey began. "But who—"

"Emma!" Gambit said cheerfully, bending down to peer in the window at the passenger. The enthusiasm in his voice sent both Purdey and Steed's mouths twitching downward, in what looked suspiciously like jealousy. "I thought you'd be sick of us by now."

"On the contrary." The auburn-haired beauty stepped out of the car and turned to address Gambit over the roof. "I've been spoiled. The desk at Knight hasn't looked so unappealing in years." She returned Gambit's grin. "Anyway, I thought I'd see you off on your triumphant return."

"Want to come along?" Gambit offered, seemingly oblivious to the sudden sting of Purdey's shoe as it connected with his shin. "They'd be dumbstruck for weeks."

"I think we ought to spare them," Emma said, mock serious. "They're in for enough as it is." She cocked her head playfully. "You're welcome to join us for lunch, though."

"I'm tempted," Gambit said coyly, as Purdey's scowl deepened. "But we made plans. And Purdey's going to need three or four lunches to make up for the past month."

"Another time, then," Emma offered, stretching a hand across the roof. Gambit took it in agreement.

"Definitely." There was one last shared smile, and then he let go and turned back to his colleagues. "Right, Purdey-girl. Ready for your debut?"

"It's about time," Purdey muttered, flouncing off toward the Ministry's entrance. Steed tipped his bowler at Emma before turning to make after the younger pair.

"I think you do that on purpose," Purdey hissed at Mike when they were three again.

"Do what?" Gambit asked innocently.

"Mrs. Peel isn't entirely innocent, either," Steed murmured, looking pointedly at Gambit. "Are you certain there isn't something you'd like to tell us?"

"About Emma?" Gambit stopped and turned to face them. "I don't see why you're so suspicious. Don't you think I can have a purely platonic relationship with an attractive woman?"

"No," Purdey said flatly, arms crossed.

Gambit raised an eyebrow. "What does that say about you and me?"

Purdey's face transformed with a devilish grin. "I'm not sure 'platonic' is an accurate descriptor at this stage of the game. Not after the curare."

"Little _too_ accurate if you ask me," Gambit mused. "But we're meant to put up a united front, aren't we? Come on, I want to watch Grey squirm."

"You'll need this." Steed handed him a file Mike he'd been holding. "Everything we need." Gambit opened the folder and perused the contents as Purdey peered over his shoulder. Identical wide grins spread across both faces in unison.

"That'll do," Purdey said smugly, turning to face the flight of steps to the Ministry's entrance, waited for Steed and Gambit to follow suit. "Let's make certain he remembers this."

They started up the steps as one, pushed open the door, and strode past the front desk, where half a dozen administrators immediately did a double-take.

A wave of silence followed them down the corridor, as secretaries, agents, researchers, technicians, file clerks, and all manner of Ministry personnel stopped what they were doing, and stood, frozen in place, to watch the trio make their journey. Purdey couldn't resist the slight smile tugging at her lips. Steed and Gambit reappearing from their 'compassionate' leave would have been more than enough grist for the rumour mill, but adding her miraculous return after so many weeks missing meant the department was ready to implode. Clearly, McKay hadn't made the news public after she had phoned in to give him a brief report the day before. She didn't mind. She was relishing her 'entrance,' and even her leg wasn't enough to dent her confidence as she strode effortlessly beside her colleagues. They were three again, a team, and everyone knew it, or soon would. She found herself wishing she could catch Grey similarly unawares, but that was too much to hope for. His people would have contacted him the instant she stepped out of the base.

Gambit and Steed led her to Grey's HQ, and Purdey was amused when the first person to see them dropped his pencil. No one accosted them as they made their way to Grey's office, too stunned to even consider it. Gambit held the door for Purdey so she could enter first, and she did so with a spring in her step.

Grey was seated at his desk, poring over paperwork, but the sound of the door made him look up and remove his reading glasses hurriedly. He glared at the trio as they lined up in front of him.

"You," he hissed, jabbing a finger at Purdey.

"Yes, me," Purdey agreed, trying not to smile. "Aren't you glad to see me, safe and sound?"

"You undermined my authority in Brazil," Grey growled, ignoring the comment, "bringing those CIE men in. You had no right—"

"I had every right," Purdey interrupted. "I was working for you the entire time I was in Brazil."

"Do you honestly think I'm going to believe that?" Grey exclaimed, clearly outraged. "You went undercover so you could work on your own, so you could investigate what happened to your father." He whirled on Steed and Gambit. "And you! I know you went to Brazil. I know you broke into the base!"

"You're mistaken. We've been in Canada," Steed said without the slightest hint of irony. "Toronto and area. We stayed with an old colleague of mine. Tara King. She'll confirm."

"I've already spoken with Miss King," Grey said angrily. "And I don't give a damn what she says. I know you were there. Pym told us as much in early interviews."

Gambit tsked. "You don't actually believe him? Taking the word of a criminal like him over that of three Ministry agents? I thought you were meant to charge him, not use him as a witness?"

Grey was grinding his teeth. "Three people broke into my base..."

"I'm extremely sorry to hear that," Steed said, wide-eyed. "But I'm afraid it had nothing to do with us. After all, Gambit and I are only two, and Purdey, as I'm sure you're aware, was still living with the locals at the time. You're certain it wasn't Pym or someone else looking for things to sell?"

"Liar!" Grey screamed, pounding the desk with his fist.

"Temper," Gambit said with the icy calmness Purdey had come to term in her own mind as 'the calm before the storm.'

"You haven't even begun to see what I'm capable of, Mr. Gambit. And as for you, _Miss Bryde_, I suppose you'll deny that you've seen your colleagues before today?"

"Well, of course not. I've seen them several times ever since we met in December, 1975," Purdey said flippantly. "But this is the first time since I left for Brazil, yes." Her eyes narrowed. "What I'd like to know is how you're going to explain sending me in as bait."

Grey crossed his arms. "Explain."

"Oh, don't be stupid. I'm not in the mood. You know very well that you sent me to Brazil because you knew Pym had a history with my father, and that if anything would draw him out and get you accolades, it was me. Gambit's already told me you admitted it."

"Has he?" Grey glared at Mike. "And what are you prepared to do about it?"

Purdey squared her shoulders and held out a hand. "Gambit?"

"Yes, of course." He opened the file and handed her the top page. She held it up for all to see.

"This is the confirmation of the arrest of one Jeremy Pym, currently in custody, made by me under the authority of MI12." She put in on the desk, palm on top.

Slap.

Gambit was handing her the forms one by one, and she held up each before setting it on top of the last. "This is the flight list that clearly states my real name, despite a forged passport, something you arranged to ensure Pym knew I was in Brazil."

Slap.

"And this is a formal complaint against you addressed to the directors of MI12. It includes accusations of misconduct, blackmail, and corruption, which have been endorsed by one Samantha Grieve and myself, pending a full inquiry."

Slap.

"And this," she said, leaning in close and holding up her right hand, thumb and forefinger almost touching, "is how close I am to breaking your back in three places. You used me, Julian Grey, and you used my father, and as I'm still on loan to MI12 until I turn in my report, I am allowed under section 3.5 of our code of conduct to charge you with unethical conduct for assigning an agent to a case in which there was a very clear conflict of interest, as well as not informing said agent of all aspects of the mission brief. I'd like to see your bosses sweep _that_ under the carpet."

"MI12 won't survive this, Grey," Steed prophesized. "Pym's not a big enough prize to outweigh the scandal."

"And now that Purdey and Grieve have started things off, I'm going to bet that a lot of other agents are going to come out of the woodwork," Gambit added. "Blackmail only works for so long, Grey. Like I said, we've got to respect our own people if we're going to get anywhere. You've only got yourself to blame."

Purdey smiled triumphantly at her colleagues' words. Grey was seething now, eyes bulging in their sockets, fists clenched so tightly she could see the veins bulging up through the skin. "I'll...I'll..."

"You'll what?" she countered. "I did my job, and then some, just like my father. You should have done yours." She turned on her heel. "Good-bye, Mr. Grey," she said to the sputtering man, unable to keep the hint of triumph out of her voice. And then she gone. Out. Free. A final weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she resisted the urge to dance a few steps as Steed and Gambit followed her through the outer office into the hall.

The instant they stepped into the corridor, they were greeted with applause. The trio started in surprise at the crowd of Ministry staff, agents and bureaucrats alike, celebrating the triumphant return of one of their own, complete with a few appreciative whistles from the more eligible male agents who had sorely missed their pretty young colleague. Purdey recovered quickly enough to execute a half-curtsy, before linking arms with her colleagues and cutting a swathe through the well-wishers.

Emma was waiting outside the Ministry for them to return. The building looked exactly the same, surprisingly enough, even a decade later, with the possible exception of a new coat of paint and different flower beds. Like Steed, though, the general structure was eternal, unmoved by time, just the right kind of conservative in an ever-changing world. Her gaze drifted from the building just in time to catch a figure ascending the steps. A young agent was eyeing her, obviously trying to sort out whether she was who he thought she was. She gave him a cheery wave and he nearly dropped his files. She watched him hurry up the steps, passing Steed, Purdey, and Gambit as he went. She rounded the car and moved to meet them. "Well?"

"Let's just say I don't think Grey's going to make the transfer when MI12 shuts down," Gambit said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Purdey played her part admirably," Steed added, and Purdey glowed at the compliments. Emma wasn't going to steal the show this time. _Take that._

"Well, I never did meet him, but I'm afraid I'm not terribly sorry," Emma replied, not seeming to know or care that Purdey was inwardly gloating at being back in her usual spot as the Ministry's favourite lady agent. "Although I do owe him a reprieve from my desk. I did enjoy this assignment."

Steed perked up. "It could be repeated, if you're interested..."

Emma's lopsided smile made an appearance accompanied with a fondness in her eyes that Purdey recognised all too well. "Maybe," she allowed. "Although you'll have to get used to using 'Knight.' I'm not Mrs. Peel anymore."

"I think you'll be forever reminding me of that," Steed told her with a shake of his head.

"Well, I'll start at lunch, and see if I can solidify it during that dinner date on Wednesday. We can talk about my career then."

"I wouldn't miss it," Steed murmured, the same expression reflected in his own eyes.

"Success!" Gambit announced smugly. "My work here is done!"

Steed frowned at the comment. "I don't recall mentioning you at all."

"Sorry," Gambit murmured, biting back a grin.

"What are you going on about?" Purdey wanted to know, looking from one to the other in confusion.

"Nothing to worry about, Purdey-girl. I'm just bringing some joy into Steed's golden years."

"Oh, if you're going to be cryptic, never mind," she snapped, glancing at her watch. "Come on, we're going to be late for lunch."

"I can't argue with her stomach," Gambit said with a shrug. "See you later?"

"You will," Emma promised, and Purdey dragged him off before he could fall back under her spell.

"Not a moment too soon," she muttered when they were out of earshot. "I can't wait until we're three again. Four is definitely a crowd."

"And two's not a party," Gambit chimed in, as Purdey climbed into the XJS. "But I think we can manage on our own for a bit." He waggled his eyebrows at her and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Mike Gambit," she chuckled, shaking her head. "You're incorrigible, and I'm not sure I'd have it any other way."

"Just as well. I'm not due for a remodelling."

She patted his arm. "Good. If you don't mind, though, there's a stop I'd like to make."

***

Purdey stood in the graveyard, wind whipping through the freshly cut hair, flowers clutched in gloved hands. She was standing before a grave, eyes flicking back and forth as she read and reread the simple words that were forever etched in her memory:

"Here lies Jonathan Bryde

Beloved husband and father

His life was his own, until the end

August 14, 1918—March 6, 1966"

Purdey squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that if she started crying now she wouldn't stop for another half hour. When she could trust herself, she reopened them, crouched to place the flowers onto the grave before reaching out to trace the words with her fingertips.

"We got him, dad," she said softly. "He won't hurt us ever again. I made sure of that." She sighed. "You wouldn't have wanted me out for revenge, would you? I almost let you down." She smiled to herself. "But you'll be happy to know I have someone else looking out for me in your place. I only wish you could meet him and say thank you." She bit her lip as the tears threatened once more. "I think you would have liked one another."

A few tears spilled out of her eyes, and she wiped them away hurriedly, standing as she did so. "I just thought I'd let you know I'm all right," she told him, finally. "And that I saw the last place on earth you ever saw, and I think, finally, I understand why you did what you did."

From behind her came the sound of someone slightly clearing his throat, and Purdey whirled around in surprise. Gambit was standing there, hands stuffed in coat pockets to ward off the chill. He smiled slightly at her, as though unsure of how she'd react to his presence.

"Gambit," she said softly. "I thought you were going to wait in the car."

"I was," Gambit explained, moving to stand beside her. "But then I thought you'd spent enough time alone, thinking about him." He nodded at the tombstone. "He'd be proud of you. You know that?"

Purdey shook her head. "Maybe he wouldn't. You don't know. You never met him."

Gambit smiled, broader this time. "He would. I can feel it. Anyone who'd raise a daughter like you would be chuffed to know that you weren't afraid to follow in his footsteps."

"Sometimes I am," Purdey admitted. "Afraid. Of losing people. Again."

"That makes two of us," Gambit reminded. "Three if we count Steed. But at least we're not alone."

"No," Purdey agreed, tucking her hand into his elbow, echoing a gesture she'd made a year ago, in a different graveyard. "We're not. Someone comes. Always. And I'm glad for it."

"Don't forget that," Gambit told her. "Because I've made a habit of it."

"A good habit, for once," Purdey quipped, managing a small smile.

"Yeah," Gambit said after a moment. "Do you need some more time with him?"

"No," Purdey interrupted, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. "No, I'm finished. I can move on now. Let's go." And they turned, arm-in-arm, to walk back down the path.

End

Author's Notes: And so it ends. I've left Emma's situation open a bit to sort of explain why no one seems terribly surprised when Steed phones her up in _K is for Kill_. Purdey looks jealous, but contacting her seems like a natural step to everyone, so this has been my own take on why that is.

Most of you are probably aware that I've already started another story, _Lost Boys, _set before the start of the series, which will probably keep me occupied for the next month or so. Because it's set pre-series, there's no Purdey in it, and between that and her absence in a large chunk of this fic, some of you may be missing her a little. To this I say, no fear! Stay tuned for the next story in the series, a strange, surreal adventure in which Purdey takes the lead. Hopefully I'll be able to start making it post-worthy soon.

The New Avengers will return!


End file.
